Stripped
by Queen of Kaos
Summary: Both are loved on stage for being beautiful and entertaining. But John and Olivia are about to find out that real love is found when the stage goes dark, and the costumes are stripped away. Rated for language, as always, and adult themes.
1. Olivia Dawn

**Naked**

_A/N: Alright, y'all - this is my first trip into the daunting woods of the SuperstarOC universe. I'm really nervous about this, so if you have any constructive criticism (too cliche, too unrealistic, too anything) let me know. I'm not really sure there's a story I could tell that hasn't been told in some form or another, but if I'm crossing a line and doing the same old thing that everyone else has already done, tell me and I'll scrap the whole idea and start something new. That being said - I don't own any of the names you recognize in this story. I don't even really own Olivia, as she is based on one of my best friends since seventh grade - the real Olivia Dawn. I hope you guys enjoy it.

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She felt dirty. Of course, she always felt dirty when she got off the stage. Not because of the stale cigarette smoke and spilt beer. And not because of the sweat-soaked glitter that clung to her body. It was because of the looks, the leers, and the lustful thoughts they all threw her way. No matter the night, the crowd, and the money, they all made her feel the same way – cheap and dirty.

Olivia Stewart, like a lot of kids, grew up wanting to be famous. She had dreams and aspirations of greatness. But like so many others who had gone before her, or would follow after, reality slapped her in the face. And when she awoke, she was tearing off her shirt, swinging around a pole, and picking bills out of her G-string.

The headaches were getting worse, the feelings of worthlessness and shame weighing heavy on her aging mind. Determined not to be a welfare mom, like her own mother had been, she set out to do anything she had to do to make life for herself and her son, Brandon, better. If getting naked and pretending to like it were what she had to do, then so be it.

She had known what it was like to grow up in a rat-trap apartment, and if she had to parade around like cattle at the state fair to make sure that her son slept on actual sheets, instead of a grungy, bare mattress, she would do it. If she had to crawl around on all fours for a bunch of lonely men so that her son could play basketball in their driveway, instead of dodging bullets on a street court, she would do it. If she had to give lap dances and hand jobs to VIPs so that her son could wear different clothes to school all week, instead of the same thrift-store knock outs every day, she would do it.

The day Brandon was born, she had decided that nothing was beneath her. She would humiliate, degrade, and destroy herself, if it meant that blue-eyed angel could someday become so much more than she had ever dreamed of being. She would do anything for him, and she would do it with a smile firmly planted on her collagen-filled lips.

Running a baby-wipe over the thick mascara around her eyes, Olivia stared into her own green orbs and laughed bitterly. She was the crowd favorite, the headliner. Her name was on the marquee, and they came just to see the famous Olivia Dawn shake her ass on the platform. Some of them even paid a pretty penny to let her entertain the guests at their private parties. But none of them wanted her. None of them cared what went on in her mind, or her life, when she clothed herself and exited the club or the hotel.

A knock sounded at the door, causing her to jump. "Um, this is a private dressing room," she shouted, furiously scrubbing at the dark circles under her eyes.

"Well, since it's my club," the voice laughed, as the door opened, and a middle-aged woman in an expensive, tailored suit stepped inside Olivia's spacious dressing area. Being the headliner did have a few advantages. Looking around, Melinda Davenport nodded approvingly. "The decorator did a nice job," she complimented.

Olivia stood from the bench in front of her lighted vanity and gathered her dark, sweaty locks into a pile on top of her head. With her hands in the pockets of her terry cloth robe, she looked past her boss to the man standing in the doorway. "What's up?" She tried to fight the confusion and the concern, but it was creeping into her voice.

Melinda clapped her hands together and looked over her shoulder. "Olivia, this is Vince McMahon."

Olivia knew exactly who the well-dressed man was. Growing up in Detroit, a city with a rich professional wrestling heritage, she had seen him a lot over the years. And since her ex had shared his love of the sport with their son, she couldn't seem to avoid an episode of RAW or Smackdown. But it didn't explain why the Chairman of the Board was in her dressing room.

"Mr. McMahon," Melinda addressed him and then nodded to the young woman on the other side of the room, "this is Olivia Stewart." Melinda waited as Vince approached Olivia and offered her a hand.

She shook it politely, trying her best to stop her heart from beating out through her throat. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir," she answered in her best professional tone as Melinda slipped out the door and shut it with a small 'click.'

When he was sure they were alone, Vince took a step back, as if to assure the young woman that his intentions were noble. "I've heard a lot about you, Olivia," he started. Looking her over critically, he nodded his approval. "A lot of my employees have been your patrons over the years, and they speak very highly of you."

She wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not. She recognized the WWE Superstars when they came into the club, of course. And some of them had tipped generously for a private dance in the VIP room. But she was fairly certain that a man of Vince's stature wasn't just here to thank her for keeping his boys satisfied.

Turning on her heel, she moved toward the refrigerator in the corner of the room. Withdrawing two bottles of water, she offered one to him. This was her dressing room, and if he wanted to negotiate a deal, something for a private party, she would show him that she was comfortable, confident, and consummate professional. If there was one thing she could be proud of, it was that her reputation was built on her savvy at the bargaining table.

"Well, you'll have to be sure to thank your boys then, Mr. McMahon," she grinned as he shook his head at the water she was offering. Replacing it quickly, Olivia moved to her vanity and withdrew a palm pilot, quickly entering a few numbers. "So, what date are we looking at?"

Vince smiled to himself. They had been right. Every one of the men who had recommended the infamous Olivia Dawn had been right. She was graceful and athletic, not to mention incredibly beautiful. She had been masterful at commanding the room, demanding that every eye follow her every move from the moment she stepped onto the stage. She was exactly what his company needed as its next female ambassador.

"As soon as possible," he said, his voice gravelly, but lilting with a hint of amusement. When Olivia raised an eyebrow and looked her calendar over, he cleared his throat. "I'm not here to book your services, Ms. Stewart," he corrected. "I'm here to offer you a job."

Olivia laughed. She hadn't meant to, but the prospect of working for him was so absurd that the chuckle came tumbling out before she could hold it back. "I'm sorry," she shook her head and tried to compose herself. "What now?"

Vince grinned – it was the shock that always came before the hug and the grateful acceptance of his offer. Flicking his wrist toward her, he extended his business card. Olivia took it skeptically. "I am looking for a young, beautiful, talented woman to join our divas on RAW. We've thrown around a lot of names, but yours seems to keep rising to the top. We believe that you could be just what we're looking for."

Olivia shook her head and laughed again. "You want me to be a diva? In the WWE?" He nodded. "Mr. McMahon," she started. It was a great opportunity, truth be told. It would offer her a chance to get away from a life that she hated, and give her something a little more stable. There was also room to improvement with the company, maybe a chance to move into the ring, or behind the scenes. There were a million reasons to say "yes."

"I know that you make a pretty good salary now," he interrupted her thoughts. "And with tips, and the private parties, I'm sure you're making more than we could offer you. But your contract with us would stipulate that you be allowed to continue with the private affairs, at least until further notice."

He was all business, and she could appreciate that. She could think of a million reasons to say "yes." But there were two blinding reasons that she had to say "no."

Her son, Brandon, was almost eleven. He was active in his school, and he had friends in Atlanta. She couldn't drag him off across the country while she pursued something she didn't even know if she wanted. It would only confuse him and disrupt his already unstable home life. She did what she did for him, and she wouldn't do anything that put his mental and emotional health at risk.

The other reason was her own personal hurdle. Handing the card back, she turned to her dressing table and slid her jeans on under her robe. "I'm sorry, Mr. McMahon, but I've watched your product for years now, and I'm not your girl," she insisted. Shedding her robe, she slid a tee shirt over her head and slung her bag over her shoulder. "I make a living flaunting my body and getting guys off. And I'm not so proud of it," she cleared her throat and opened the door. "At least here, I only have to do it for a hundred or so at a time. I have no interest in losing the shred of dignity I have left in front of millions."

With that, she left him in her dressing room, moving quickly down the hall and toward the side entrance. Three men stood at a table in the emptying club, watching her as she scurried in the opposite direction without so much as a look over her shoulder. She didn't care who thought she was crazy – she was not about to flounce around and pretend to be some air-headed bimbo for ratings or whatever.

"I'm guessing she said no," Randy Orton chuckled to himself as Vince materialized from another hallway.

With a slightly indifferent nod, the older man motioned for them to follow to his car. "She will come around, I have a feeling," he answered with a smile.

Randy, Vince, and Edge continued to talk about how beautiful Olivia was, how perfect she would be as a diva, while John Cena followed behind, flipping his cell phone open as it rang in his hand.

"I was just about to call you, baby," he smiled to himself, stopping on the sidewalk and jamming a finger in his ear. "What's that?"

"I asked you where you were," his girlfriend, Stacy Keibler, repeated with irritation. "You were supposed to call me, like, two hours ago."

Rolling his eyes, he thanked god that she wasn't there to catch his little gesture. But before he could answer, she started ranting about something else, leaving John to watch the street for anything more interesting than his girlfriend's berating tone.

As he turned his back to the waiting limo, his eyes rested on her, the woman from the club. She was climbing into a little silver focus and talking on a cell phone – she didn't look happy. He had been the only one at the table who had never seen Olivia dance, and after tonight, it was pretty safe to say that the others had undersold her abilities. In fact, he had been so amped after watching her performance, that he was looking forward to Vince bringing her on board. Now he felt a little bit disappointed that she had turned down the offer.

"Are you listening to me?"

As the woman drove away, John turned his attention back to his girlfriend and climbed into the limo, trying not to laugh at Randy's "Pissed Off Keibler" impression. "Baby?" he finally interrupted her. "Sweetie, I know I should have called. I suck." He waited while she agreed. "I know, and I will make it up to you. But right now, I gotta go. We got business to discuss." It was kind of true, so he could kind of ease his conscience.

Flipping the phone shut, he turned to his boss and his friends. "So," he raised an eyebrow and then smiled, "Olivia Dawn."


	2. Compromise and Respect

**Stripped**

_A/N: I really appreciate you guys who have reviewed this story already and expressed an interest in it. I was kinda worried about deviating from my usual formula (i.e. Trish and Randy, Dave, or John - my Trifecta of Sexy). But I'm glad to find that you're enjoying it. This chapter is for Rachel, because it was coming anyway, but I know it'll make you happy. I don't own either of the Superstars mentioned in this chapter, just like I have never owned any of the Superstars mentioned in any chapter of any of my stories. Enjoy!

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By the time John returned to his hotel room, he had three great excuses ready for Stacy. Not that he wanted to lie to her, but he couldn't tell her the truth. She would smell it on him anyway, and she would figure it out. But he would not blatantly admit that he had defied her wishes, yet again. He didn't want to see the heart break on her face, the disappointment in her eyes, when she realized he was far weaker than she expected him to be.

Opening the door as quietly as possible, he checked his diamond encrusted watch. It was almost 5 am. With any luck, she would be sound asleep. In the eight months they had been dating, he had discovered that his Stacy was an incredibly sound sleeper, allowing him to sneak in at all hours of the night and slip into her bed without waking her. By morning, he could always convince her that he had been there since right after she had drifted into dream land.

But she wasn't sound asleep this morning. She was perched on the edge of the bed, dressed in a pink sweat suit, complete with running shoes and jewelry. At her feet, her suitcase was packed, and her purse was lying on the bed beside her. When he closed the door, she turned to face him, her eyes red and swollen.

"Hey," he stated, trying to figure out what was wrong. "What's goin' on here?"

She cleared her throat, wiped her hands over her face, and shook her head. "I can't do this anymore, John."

The pain in her face, mixed with the alcohol he had consumed and the exhaustion threatening to take over his body, confused the hell out of him. "Huh?"

Stacy stood to her full six feet and tightened her ponytail. "Us. I can't do it anymore. I'm out," she nodded to her suitcase.

The words hit his ears, but their meaning was bouncing around in his head, refusing to settle into his brain. "What?" he laughed, as though this were some cruel, early morning joke.

But the tears that pooled in her eyes said it was anything but funny. "I love you," she said sadly, reaching for her purse and her car keys. "But it's not enough anymore. And I just can't keep doing it."

The whole situation was surreal and absurd, as far as he was concerned. He had forgotten to call her before, plenty of times, and she had always yelled at him about respecting her and then forgave him with hot, sweaty make-up sex. He was sure that he, and his tongue, could convince her to give him another chance as he stepped forward and reached for her tiny waist.

But Stacy stepped back, holding out a hand to stop him from advancing. "No." It was as if she was reading his mind, and she wasn't falling for it again. "Not this time. You can't just fuck this one away, John."

Falling onto the bed, he took a moment to let it all sink in. She was leaving him. Just like that – without warning. Or had there been warnings? Had he missed the signs? Had she tried to tell him that she was unhappy? He honestly couldn't remember. He thought they were good together. "Why?" was all he could manage.

With her arms folded across her chest, Stacy steeled her resolve. "Because you don't even know it's not right anymore," she said simply. Her voice was sure and steady, but raspy through the filter of a throat strained from crying. "Because you have to ask me why."

He was tired, and irritated, but he didn't want to yell. Obviously, she was upset by this. And given awhile to process it, he probably would be, too. "Can we just cut the bull shit and you tell me what it is I'm supposed to know? Tell me why you're really leaving." He narrowed his eyes and waited.

He was a good boyfriend – any girl who dated him would agree. He paid careful attention to their interests and desires. He always had a firm handle on what made them tick, what they liked and didn't like. But, at the heart of the matter, he was still a man. He didn't always know what he had done to piss his woman off, and he didn't like it when they assumed he did.

Shaking her head, Stacy huffed. "Let me ask you something first. And don't bother lying to me, because it's not gonna help anything at this point." He nodded. "Did you got to a strip club tonight?"

Looking away sheepishly, John nodded. She hated them, and he knew it. She saw them as degrading to women, and insulting. She had asked him, more than once, to stay away from them, and he had never listened. But strip clubs couldn't be the reason she was pissed enough to walk away from eight months of hard work and happiness.

"With Randy and Adam?" Again, he nodded. "So, you went to the one place I have asked you not to go, and you went with the two men I have asked you not to hang out with?" When he looked at her with vulnerable eyes, she let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "And you wonder why I'm sick of this bull shit, John? Seriously?"

Her tone pissed him off. Sure, she had told him how she felt about strip clubs and his friends. But he was an adult, dammit. "So you're breaking up with me because you can't control me. Is that it? Am I getting that right? Because I won't go where you want me to go and hang out with who you want me to hang out with, you're just gonna leave?" Standing, he put his hands on his hips. "That's mature, Stacy."

She knew what he was trying to do. If he could get her angry, make her yell at him, then he wouldn't have to feel guilty about the heartbreaking expression in her eyes. But she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of feeling justified. Not when she knew it wasn't her fault. Not all of it.

"I'm not leaving because of them," she corrected softly, trying to control the anger bubbling inside of her. "Relationships are about compromise, John. They're about respect. When we have a day off, do I drag you into dress stores? Do I make you sit around and wait for me to try on thirty pairs of shoes? No, because I know how much you hate it," she pointed out.

The argument was thin, at best. "That's maybe the most asinine thing I have ever heard," he spat. "Just because I hate shopping, it doesn't mean I ask you to stop doing it. And I know how much you hate strip clubs, so I don't ask you to go with me."

"You're not morally opposed to shopping, though," she stomped her foot. It was an issue she felt strongly about, the fact that his watching other naked women was, at least in part, no better than cheating on her. And the fact that he couldn't see it the same way, hurt. It hurt her more than she was willing to overlook.

John rolled his eyes. "Look, baby, I understand that it's a big deal to you. I really do. But you wanna talk about compromise like it means me doin' whatever you say. You wanna talk about respect like it means me going along with whatever you believe in." Reaching his hand out to her again, he shook his head. "We are adults, Stacy. Sometimes adults just agree to disagree."

She stepped into his touch this time, and let it linger on her elbow. With a sigh of resignation, she shook her head and pressed a kiss to his forehead. When she finally stepped back, she stooped to pick up her suitcase and gave him a small smile. "I can agree to disagree with my friends, John. But I need my boyfriend to have my back." She turned for the door, leaving him to process the last fifteen minutes alone.

When she stepped into the hallway, he called out, "Is this really about strip clubs, Stacy?"

She looked over her shoulder and shook her head. "It's about everything."

For a long time after she left, he laid on the bed and stared at the ceiling. She was right – at least he thought she was. If he understood her correctly, their relationship hadn't ended because of other naked women, or because of his sometimes obnoxious friends. It had ended because, quite simply, they were way too different to co-exist. He couldn't change who she was anymore than she could change who he was. And that realization helped him to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	3. Putting Brandon First

**Stripped**

_A/N: I disclaim. Enjoy!

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Between the hours of 10 PM and 3 AM, Pandora's Box was one of the hottest gentlemen's clubs in all of Atlanta. They opened, and closed, earlier than most, but Melinda always said that it was better to get the big spenders into their establishment first. She didn't care if they went elsewhere after Pandora's closed, as long as they spent their money in her club first.

To its patrons and industry insiders alike, it was an establishment known for employing only the hottest women, the best bartenders, and the baddest bouncers in the city. Their reputation was built on professionalism, credibility, and a degree of glamour that was often imitated, but never duplicated. Quite simply, Pandora's was everything that a strip club was supposed to be.

A good business, Melinda always said, was the sum total of it's equally important parts. She insisted that each employee perfect his or her craft on a daily basis, and that they treat each co-worker with the utmost respect. Individually, they were no different than any other staff in any other club. But when the emotionally damaged and broken pieces came together inside the walls of Pandora's Box, they were a family.

And it wasn't at all uncommon to find the club alive and buzzing with the sounds of several employees fluttering around in the middle of the afternoon. Those who wanted to work on new drink recipes or dance steps, or just had nowhere else to go, often gathered at work during their off-hours.

"Hey, Rico," Arykah Daniels called from the end of the bar. The buxom blonde held a magenta feather boa in one hand, and a matching pair of stilettos in the other as the dark-skinned bartender stopped the concoction he was perfecting and looked her way. "Is this too much pink?"

Before Rico could answer, the front door of the club banged open, disrupting the relative stillness of the spacious room. Hurricane Olivia had been loosed on them, and no one was about to ask the headliner what was wrong. In reality, they didn't have to.

The solemn-looking child behind her told them everything they needed to know. Brandon was a tall, lanky adolescent with long, stringy hair and baggy clothes. At some point in the last few months, he had developed an affinity for dark eyeliner and nail polish, as well.

Olivia stopped near the bar and whipped around, her green eyes blazing with anger as she gritted her teeth and narrowed her gaze at her son. "You sit your ass at that table, and keep your fuckin' mouth shut. Do you understand me?" Brandon stared at her blankly. "If you so much as think about moving, reconsider." She pointed to the chair and he rolled his eyes, flopping down.

"Can I get a soda at least?" he asked, his voice defiant and his glare mirroring his mother's.

Shaking her dark ponytail, Olivia seethed. "No. Rico, do not give him anything to drink. Or eat. Or read." She leaned on the bar and crossed her arms. "Until I figure out what the fuck I'm gonna do with a fifth grade drop out, you're just gonna sit there and be fuckin' miserable." Glancing around the room, she nodded toward one of the huge bouncers that had just emerged from the company gym. "George, can you keep an eye on him for me?"

With a stoic nod, George moved toward Brandon's table and stood directly to the boy's left. When Olivia met her son's eye, he raised his middle finger and an eyebrow, as if to dare her to respond. Instead of his mother's wrath, however, the young punk seemed to elicit something deep within the brick wall of a man beside him as George reached his hand out and rapped the back of Brandon's head, sending the kid further into his seat, his eyes trained on the table.

Grabbing Arykah's arm, Olivia made her way toward the dressing room at the end of the hall. Once the door was slammed, she threw her denim jacket onto the couch and started pacing. "He got expelled. Again," she spat angrily. "Three schools in one year, Arykah. What the fuck am I supposed to do with him now?"

Arykah sat at the vanity, watching her friend move back and forth like a caged animal. She wasn't sure what to say, as she had never actually been a mother before, but it was obvious that Olivia wasn't really looking for advice. For as long as they had known one another, the Olivia was always just looking for someone to hear her, not to tell her what to do.

The women had started working at Pandora's roughly nine years earlier, each at the tender age of eighteen. They had trained together, learned the ropes of the business together, and on occasion, performed at private parties together. Best friends were hard to come by in a world driven by sex, drugs, and plastic surgery, but Arykah and Olivia had formed an unbreakable bond.

Olivia spent her childhood dreaming of a life outside the dirty ghettos of Detroit, while Arykah did her fantasizing in a middle-class neighborhood in St. Louis. Both ended up in Atlanta through a series of unfortunate events – Arykah fleeing from an abusive boyfriend, while Olivia tried to raise a two-year-old on her own. Nights at the club were followed by mornings of tears on the floor of their shared apartment, each bearing her soul to the other. They both knew that the other had no way of understanding their individual predicaments, but it didn't matter. They listened to each other, without judging, and it was enough.

"What did he do this time?" Arykah finally asked when she saw the tears in Olivia's eyes. She was a hard-ass when it came to disciplining Brandon, but behind closed doors, she wept over what her son had become.

The kid had been so happy, once upon a time. When he was little, he had the sweetest, most infectious laugh. It was the tiny giggle that started in his throat and eventually worked its way all the way down to his belly. Even when he started school, he had been the picture of obedience and curiosity, two elements that made him a stand-out student with a promising future. For the first ten years of his life, Brandon Stewart had been the perfect child.

And then he started the fifth grade. Teachers started to call Olivia, telling her that Brandon was struggling with his homework, and failing tests. They would leave messages to let her know that her son was becoming a behavioral problem, as well. He was acting out in class and distracting other students. His outbursts became more frequent, and by October of his fifth grade year, he had been expelled. In January, school number two had asked him to leave. And now, in May, he had been booted from number three.

"Oh, nothing major," Olivia raised an eyebrow and looked at her friend. "He had a half ounce of marijuana in his backpack, or starters," she held up one finger. "And then, when his teacher asked him about it, he told her to fuck off," she added another finger. "Oh, and when I showed up? That was just in time to watch him call the principal an 'ignorant cock sucker.' So, ya know?" She shrugged her shoulders and sank to the couch. "Normal ten-year-old stuff."

Her shoulders sagged and Arykah watched her transform. The woman on stage every night was in charge of every aspect of her performance. No one would ever call Olivia Dawn weak or incapable of controlling her environment. But Olivia Stewart had no grip on her reality, and it was painful to watch at times.

"You know what he said to me? On the way here?" She stared into Aryka's huge, blue eyes and wiped a tear from her own cheek. "He said that I was a lazy slut. That I never bothered to get an education because I was too busy getting knocked up in high school. And he said that I take my clothes off for money because its easier than getting a real job." She raised an eyebrow and licked another tear off her top lip. "That was before he said he hated me and his life would be better if I just ran the car off the road and died."

A thick cloud of silence hung between them as Olivia let the tears flood her perfect face. There was no one on the planet that she loved as much as her son. There was nobody who would ever mean as much to her as Brandon did. So why did he hate her so much? And why couldn't he understand that everything, even his birth, had been a sacrifice on her part? Why couldn't he just thank her for what she had put herself through for him?

A knock on the door caused Olivia to jump. "Come in," she managed to squeak, smiling as Melinda let herself into the room. "Hey, Melinda," she smiled weakly.

Melinda's severe, all-business features softened at the sight of her sobbing headliner. "Sweetheart, I heard about Brandon," she sighed.

Olivia knew better than to ask how Melinda knew. Melinda always knew. It was as obvious as the fact that the sky was blue. Wiping her hands over her face, she tucked her feet underneath her on the couch. "Um, yeah. We're kinda havin' a lapse in the communication synapse right now," she answered with a slight chuckle.

Sinking to the couch beside Olivia, Melinda held out a folder and waited for the woman at her side to take it. When she had looked it over, the brunette looked at her boss curiously. "It's a contract," Melinda said.

Nodding, Olivia pulled her hair out its ponytail and ran her fingers through the long extensions. "No, I get that," she answered, reading it again. "But what for?"

With an easy manner, Melinda crossed her legs and put a hand on Olivia's knee. "For a solution to your problem." She cleared her throat and rolled her eyes as Olivia's expression remained blank. "You were offered a job by Vince McMahon, Olivia. It is a fantastic opportunity for you."

Olivia laughed and shook her head, handing the contract back. "Um, I already told Mr. McMahon that I couldn't accept his offer, Melinda," she reminded her boss. They had this conversation the day after Vince had made the offer, and she hadn't thought about it much since. She wasn't going to change her mind. "I have obligations here."

"This contract," Melinda started, resting the folder on the coffee table before them, "states that your contract with Pandora's Box is being suspended. Starting June 1, you will be free to pursue an active position with World Wrestling Entertainment, for the duration of ninety days. At that time, if you are not interested in continuing employment with the aforementioned company, I will buy out your contract and bring you back to Pandora's, no questions asked."

It was unheard of. Strippers, even headliners, were a dime a dozen. There was absolutely no reason for a business woman like Melinda to offer her anything, especially ninety days off to find herself. "Melinda, I appreciate the offer," she started.

But her boss only stood, sympathy still emanating from her eyes. "I know you're going to say that you can't leave Brandon, but I'm suggesting that you can. Not only can you, Olivia, but I think you should."

Olivia wanted to scoff. If his life was already fucked up, being abandoned by his mother certainly wouldn't help anything. "No offense, Melinda, but," she stood and rubbed her hands over her jeans.

Melinda wasn't finished, though. Holding up a hand, she went on. "Olivia, I know that you love your son. But his father has a normal job, nine to five. He doesn't get to spend that much time with the boy as it is, and maybe a more traditional life, at least for a little while, would put Brandon back on the right track?"

"His father is a horse's ass," Olivia stated sincerely. Melinda and Arykah both smiled, and Olivia noticed that her friend seemed to be nodding in agreement with their boss. "You gonna turn on me, too?"

Arykah stood and shook her head, wrapping her bright pink boa around her neck. "It's your decision, Liv. But if I can say something?" Olivia nodded. "He's a ten-year-old boy, ya know? He needs a father-figure. And you only let him see his once or twice a month because you don't like the guy." She hated that she had to be the one who always told Olivia what she didn't want to hear, but it was one of the downsides to the "best friend" job.

Sinking back to the couch, Olivia looked from one woman to the other and then rested her head in her hands. "All I've ever wanted was for him to be happy. For him to have more than I had," she sighed, looking at the contract. Withdrawing a pen from her purse, Olivia scribbled her name across the bottom of the paper. "If this is what I have to do to help him," she left the sentence unfinished and cried again.

It would kill her to leave him behind, to go to sleep at night not knowing he was right across the hall. It would tear her apart not to wake him up in the morning with a kiss to the forehead, watching him smile in his sleep, before he remembered that he hated her again. It would hurt her more than any emotional trauma her mother and step-father had inflicted on her growing up, more than childbirth, even. Walking away from Brandon would be the hardest thing she ever did.

The second hardest would be calling Vince McMahon and accepting his offer.


	4. The New Girl

**Stripped**

_A/N: Alright, so I got way more reviews than I was expecting! Wow, and thanks. You guys are the greatest readers in the whole fuckin' world! And I would say that even if you weren't bein' so damn nice. But I'm glad that you're enjoying the story, and I hope I can continue to deliver something that lives up to your expectations. Of course, I don't own any of these people, or any other people for that matter. Enjoy!

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If there was one thing Olivia wasn't used to, it was being the new girl. Sometimes she felt like she had been at Pandora's her entire life, and she liked that people knew her there. She loved the feeling of power that came with walking into a room of new recruits, watching their faces as they realized the headliner in their midst. She loved when the whispers started and she would hear her name passing over their lips with awe and reverence.

What she didn't love was sitting in the make-up chair on her first night of RAW, knowing that the whispers and glance she got were anything but respectful. She assumed that it came with the territory, but it didn't make her life anymore comfortable at the moment.

"You're all ready for wardrobe, Miss Stewart," the make-up girl finally announced, pulling the bib off of the newbie as she stood from the chair.

Fighting the urge to rub her eyes, Olivia thanked the girl and walked off toward the divas' dressing room. It wasn't that the people at RAW weren't nice. It's just that they weren't her family. And she had yet to meet anyone that made her feel like she was at home. Of course, not having Arykah at her side, or knowing that she had Brandon to go home to, wasn't helping.

Pushing the door of the dressing room open, she stepped inside and tried to protect herself against the chaotic onslaught of pre-show activity. There were four other woman running around, stepping into mini skirts and dresses, before bitching about how fat they looked and ripping them off again. And for the first time, she almost felt like she was back at the club again.

With a slight smile, Olivia made her way to a quiet corner and tried to stay out of the path of rabid chicks in spandex. She was only going to be on camera for about ninety seconds, so if she had to wear their leftovers, she didn't really care. Sitting on the bench in front of her locker, she dug into her bag and retrieved her cell phone. She had plenty of time to send Brandon a short text message, letting him know that she missed him already, even though she'd only left him at his dad's that morning.

"I'm not saying I don't think you did the right thing, Stace," Trish Stratus's soft voice interrupted Olivia's train of thought as the two most recognizable divas made their way toward her. "I'm just saying I don't think it'll last."

Stacy Keibler dropped onto the bench beside the newest team member, but kept her insistent gaze on her friend. "I just can't put up with it anymore, Trish."

Olivia fought to keep her eyes forward, fully focused on what she was doing, as the women continued to argue over whether or not Stacy was strong enough to stand her ground.

"It's a big deal to me," the taller of the two blondes finally huffed, raising her voice a bit over the commotion. "If he loves me like he says he does, then he has to respect that I don't want him in those skank holes."

Trish bit her lip and tried to keep from giggling. "You've never even been in one, Stace," Trish reminded, smiling when Olivia returned her phone to her bag. "Some of them are pretty nice," she added, watching with amusement as Stacy's face contorted angrily.

"Do they all have naked woman in them? Writhing around, just trying to get some man turned on for cash?" Stacy stood and put her hands on her hips as Trish nodded, biting her lip. "Stop fucking laughing, Trish. I'm serious. There is something wrong with this country when we pay women to get some stranger off. Meanwhile his wife or girlfriend is sitting at home wondering why the fuck her all-natural beauty isn't enough for the man who is supposed to love her!"

Olivia felt the bile rising in her throat. She couldn't disagree with Stacy's side of the argument. There **was** a problem in their society. A problem that kept a roof over her son's head and food in his stomach. But it was also the same problem that gave everyone in this locker room a job. If she hadn't been the new girl, Olivia probably would have told Stacy so. But instead, she just lowered her head and tried to make herself invisible.

Finally, Trish held up a hand and sighed in resignation. "Alright, fine. You win," she rolled her eyes. The woman beside them had been sitting so silently, Trish had nearly forgotten she was there. And it wasn't like her to ignore a new face. "I'm Trish, by the way," she introduced herself by sticking her hand in Olivia's line of vision.

Trying her best not to be a dorky fan, Olivia returned the smile and shook the older woman's hand. "I'm Olivia," she answered.

Trish's eyes grew wide and her lips formed a tiny "oh" for a second. "Um, Olivia," she nodded, shooting a look at Stacy, who seemed oblivious. "You have a scene with Randy tonight, don't you? Orton?"

Olivia looked at the script beside her and nodded curiously. What the hell was wrong with the Women's Champion? "Yeah," she finally said.

"Well then," Trish said quickly, bending down to grab Olivia by the arm. "Let's go find him, shall we?" The brunette struggled to stand as Trish waved to Stacy and then dragged her into the hall, slamming the locker room door shut behind her. "I am so fuckin' sorry about that."

Laughing, Olivia looked around the hallway and then back to Trish with a questioning glance. "About what?" she asked.

Pointing a manicured nail to the door behind them, Trish rolled her eyes. "Stacy's whole diatribe on the virtues of faithfulness and the moral ineptitude of strippers?" She nodded toward Olivia, who still looked confused. "You were a stripper, right? Before you came here?"

"Still am," Olivia admitted. Sure, she wasn't working a pole for the next three months, but she would always be a dancer, at least in her own mind. And she was nothing better than a well-paid home wrecker, according to Stacy. "But I don't mind that shit, Trish," she said, with a nod of concession. "She's not the only one that feels that way."

Trish shrugged. "Well, if it's any consolation, I don't feel that way," she assured, a hand on Olivia's arm. "Especially about you." Turning, she led Olivia down the hall, shoving her hands deeply into the pockets of the pin-striped pants she was wearing. "You're Randy's favorite, ya know?" When Olivia gave her a blank stare, Trish rolled her eyes. "Randy Orton?"

Olivia knew him, though not what she would call "well." Any time the WWE rolled through Atlanta, he came into the club, and tipped her well for private dances. He always requested her, and he was always well-behaved and appreciative of her talents. But she wouldn't consider them friends or anything. "I've worked for him a few times," she answered.

"Speak of the devil," Trish groaned as she turned a corner and found Randy outside his dressing room with Adam and John. "The thing is," she stopped walking and put a hand on Olivia's arm again. "Every time you dance for him? He comes home so worked up that we have, like, the most mind-blowing sex EVER." Olivia shifted uncomfortably, but Trish just licked her lips and laughed. "So now that you're here, you're either gonna have to teach me all your tricks," she winked. "Or you have to give him lap dances every night before you send him home to me."

When she had entered the arena, Olivia hadn't known what to expect. She knew that some of the guys would recognize her, and she had expected a lot of the women to dislike her. It wasn't because she was so beautiful or such a promising talent. But women, by nature, were territorial, and she knew they didn't like having their turf invaded. What she had not expected was to find someone who amused her as much as Trish was at that moment.

"Hey, baby," Randy smiled as the two women approached and Trish wrapped her arms around his waist. From her vantage point, Olivia could see their tongues dancing together when they kissed. Judging from the groaning men beside her, she wasn't the only one with said view. "What?" Randy asked, pulling away and holding Trish close to his side.

"Dude, we all wanna know what it's like to fuck her," Adam nodded toward Trish and then turned his nose up. "But we don't wanna see how **you** do it, okay?" Turning, he held a hand out to Olivia. "Good to see you again, Miss Olivia Dawn," he winked.

She turned his hand-shake into a hug and remembered the last time she had danced for Adam Copeland. He had been so funny, and made her laugh so hard, that she had nearly given up on finishing her seductive dance. She was sure that the shaking of her shoulders and the incessant giggling were not at all alluring. But he had tipped generously and promised her that it was the best show he'd ever seen. "It's just nice to see a familiar face," she admitted.

Randy pouted and pushed Trish away. "Hey, what about me? I'm familiar," he held his arms out and Olivia stepped into his embrace. "Ah," he sighed, running his hands down her back. "See?" He turned to Adam as he let Olivia go. "Told you she was probably soft."

Adam nodded in agreement and ran his finger down Olivia's bare arm. She shuddered slightly and turned a disturbed look to Trish. "What the fuck are you doing?" Trish barked.

Withdrawing his hand, Adam winked and shrugged. "We never get to touch her when she dances for us. She's got this whole "hands off" policy. Now we can hug her and touch her whenever we want."

"Maybe you should ask her if she wants your grubby hands all over her before you just start feelin' her up, ya pervert." John finally made his presence known, pushing off the wall to extend a hand to the new woman in their midst.

Olivia wrapped her fingers around his and smiled into his blue eyes. She knew who he was from television, but the intensity of his stare she recognized from the other night. It wasn't often that a pair of eyes were burned into her memory after she left the club. There weren't many nights when a patron visited her in her dreams, especially when she hadn't even seen him one-on-one. "John Cena," she smiled knowingly.

He nodded and licked his lips. He had been afraid that, up close, she would have some horrible flaw or defect that the dim lighting and constant movement had hidden. But she didn't. She was perfectly beautiful. "Olivia Dawn," he answered with the same smile.

They were still shaking hands when Randy cleared his throat and bent down to whisper in Trish's ear. "You seein' what I'm seein'?"

Trish rolled her eyes. Randy's enthusiasm for playing matchmaker far exuded his ability for it. "I don't know, baby," she whispered back. "Are you seein' Stacy's head explode?" Randy wiggled his eyebrows. "Because when she finds out that you set her ex up with a stripper?" She let out a low whistle and shook her head.

His chest rumbled with laughter as he watched his friend continue to chat up the new girl. "I just thought they might be cool together," he admitted. "But the Stacy thing is a total bonus."


	5. The Most Intimate Gesture

**Stripped**

_A/N: I can't even tell you guys how much your reviews have meant to me with this story. I went from being totally unsure about the concept, to loving everything about writing it. Creating a new character is fun for me, and I hope you're starting to love Olivia as much as I do. I don't own John, Randy, Trish, Adam, or Stacy. I do, kind of own Olivia, though sometimes I get the feeling she's her own person, too. Enjoy!

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For a guy known as "the rapping wrestler," John Cena was not a hip-hop player. At least, not in the traditional sense. He owned one diamond-encrusted watch, but no other "bling" to speak of. Granted, he grew up in a neighborhood, but it wasn't close to "the hood." He was less about "pimping with the honeys and the ho's," and more about monogamous relationships. And his "posse" consisted of a St. Louis-bred metrosexual and a blonde-haired Canadian. So he knew that hip-hop, in general, was probably not celebrating his ascent within their ranks.

At least he could be found "chillin' in the club" most nights after his shows were over. Not that he wanted to be there. There were about two hundred things John would have rather done than stand around a smokey club, listening to shitty, techno remixes of the songs he loved, and pretending to be "livin' it up." He endured it, mostly for his friends, but the reality was that there was nothing he wanted more than to catch a cab, go back to the hotel, and sleep for more than two hours for a change.

By the time they had arrived to the evening's destination of torture, his head was already throbbing and his knee was starting to bother him. A bad bump in his match with Kurt Angle had twisted his leg in the wrong direction, and now he couldn't even dance. Not that he was very good at that either. Yet another hip-hop inadequacy.

Olivia sat across the room, separated from John by a sea of dancing twenty and thirty-something's. She watched with mild amusement as some blonde tried to capture his attention at the bar, but then averted her eyes to the table before her. Pining for a guy she'd only known a week was silly, and she willed herself to stop wishing he would walk over and talk to her.

When Trish suggested they all go dancing, Olivia knew that they assumed she would be the first to get on the floor and the last to leave. She was a dancer by trade, after all. But a strip tease was one thing – dry humping a stranger in a pack of her horny peers was a little too threatening.

She had her "hands off" policy, as Adam called it, for a reason. Not just because there were a lot of skeezy individuals in her line of work, but because it protected her. In Pretty Woman, Julia Roberts said that kissing on the lips was too personal, the line she wouldn't cross. But to Olivia, a simple touch, at just the right time, in just the right place, was the most intimate of all contact. And she wasn't interested in intimacy.

For more than ten years, there had been only one man on her mind – Brandon. She didn't date that much, never had a serious relationship, and could count the times she'd had sex on two hands. Arykah always teased that Olivia must have put every vibrator company out of business, that there was no way the brunette vixen wasn't releasing her sexual tension somehow. But Olivia wasn't that interested in fucking, whether her friend believed her or not.

Selling sex for a living had it's drawback. Olivia saw her body as something to be bought and sold. Getting a guy off was her business plan, soft boobs and a firm ass were her product. There had been a time when she had valued the act as something beautiful between people who wanted, even needed, each other. Now it was her commodity, her livelihood. She envied those who anticipated a good fuck as something they wanted. Because to her, it was something she had to give up in order to survive.

Some said that what she did was a just a step above prostitution, but Olivia thought it was the same. The guys she danced for didn't need to fuck her to rape her of her dignity. Even without penetration, she felt as though she'd given a little piece of herself away each time she flirted with them and exposed herself. And, after nine years, she wasn't sure she had anything left.

"Hey," a deep voice broke into her thoughts and Olivia looked up with a smile.

"Hey, yourself," she nodded to the chair across from her. John lowered himself into the seat and slid a beer bottle across the table at her. Maybe she wasn't that interested in finding a boyfriend, but she could always use another friend. With a sincere smile, she lifted the bottle to her lips. "Thanks."

"So, Trish and Orton just dumped your ass when we got here, huh?" he asked, looking around the floor for his friends.

Olivia nodded to the corner of the dance floor, where Randy was holding Trish's ass, her legs rapped around his waist as she sucked his neck. "I'm just waiting for him to throw her on the ground," she winked.

John shook his head and turned his attention back to the woman across from him. She had a face that made it impossible to look away. "They usually wait until the car ride home for that," he assured her. "So you're not gonna get out there?" When the new song hit the speakers, he grinned knowingly and wiggled his eyebrows. "Shake ya tail feather?"

Rolling her eyes, Olivia lifted her bottle to her lips again and shook her head. "I danced with Adam when we first got here," she answered. She liked Adam, as a guy who was funny and a hell of a party to be around. And while his arms around her had been, in no way, inappropriate, she found herself uncomfortable, hungry for escape. "I'm not really that into dancing," she added.

With a smile, John leaned back in his chair and watched her over the top of his glass. "Is that supposed to be a joke?" After a week, he still couldn't tell with her, the way she dead-panned everything, whether she was trying to be funny or not. Trish seemed to have it figured out, but none of the guys could catch on, no matter how hard they tried.

Olivia shook her head, put her bottle back on the table, and leaned forward on her elbow. "I dance because I'm good at it. Not because I like it." He nodded. "What about you? I thought you'd be the center of attention out there."

He shrugged his shoulders, his blue eyes never leaving her intense emerald ones. "I hate dancing. And I hate this music. And I hate crowds." Olivia laughed and then covered her mouth apologetically. "What?"

Wiping a dribble of the beer that had escaped her lips, she shook her head and coughed slightly. "I'm sorry. It's just that you're one of the most outgoing people I have ever met in my life."

He was used to it. People saw him as the loud-mouthed champion. He was the guy who always wanted the attention, loved being in the middle of the fans, sharing his success with them. He was the guy who couldn't get enough at in-stores and meet-and-greets. "It's kinda like this part I play," he admitted.

Randy, Adam, Trish, and Stacy knew the John who could be shy and introverted. They knew the guy who would always hang back and let them talk first. He was the guy who hated going to the mall because he was the only one that ever got recognized, or at least the first one. And, he realized as he looked across the table, he wanted Olivia to know that guy, too. He wanted this soft-spoken angel to know who he really was.

"What about you?" he asked suddenly.

She looked around in surprise and then blushed a little bit. "What about me? I sit in my dressing room, go the stage when my name is called, do my thing, and then go back to my dressing room. The fact that I'm an introvert shouldn't really be a surprise to you," she pointed out.

"You know what surprises me?" He leaned forward a little, telling himself to just be direct. He trusted that he could tell this woman something, and that she would get it, without over-analyzing. And while he wasn't sure where that confidence came from, he knew it was real. "That you're so unlike any dancer I've ever met."

She licked her lips and nodded in agreement. "I get that a lot," she started, and then hesitated. Did this guy really want to listen to her talk about the on vs. off stage persona of exotic dancers? One look in his eyes said that he wanted to hear anything she had to say. And it threw her off a little bit. "Sorry," she blinked, trying to regain her train of thought.

"What?" John wiped his hand over his face. "Did I drool? Because I know you're fine, but I was sure I could control it better than that," he smiled.

Olivia just shook her head. "No, um," she sighed and cleared her throat. "Um, I was just gonna say," she started in again, and he leaned forward a little to listen.

She would tell him her opinions, her theories, if he wanted her to. She would tell him anything if he kept looking at her like that. Like he was actually interested in the words coming out of her mouth. From the moment he sat down, and all through their conversation, his gaze had never left her face. Not even a quickie to her lips or her chest. His stare held the intensity and respect of a man who knew how to treat a woman, no matter what she did for a living.

And in that moment, she changed her mind. A touch wasn't the most intimate thing in the world. The look in his crystal eyes was.


	6. I'm His Mom Dammit

**Stripped**

_A/N: So this is really more of a blurb than a chapter, but it's setting up some stuff that will happen later. Maybe I'll get really lucky and give you another, longer chapter later tonight. Who know? I don't own 'em - Enjoy! (and thanks for the AWESOME reviews.)__

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"Well, then why did you even fuckin' call, Jack?" Olivia slumped further into her seat and let out a frustrated groan. "You're just gonna do whatever the hell you want anyway."

Trish sat in the front seat of the van, nestled comfortably between Randy and Adam. All three had their eyes trained on the road before them. Stacy and Christy Hemme sat in the next row of seats, both growing incredibly interested with their fingernails at the moment. And John was crouched next to the window in the back, doing his best to pretend that he couldn't hear every word of Olivia's conversation.

For the most part, she had adjusted well to the life of a WWE diva. She was doing exactly what she was told, getting over fairly well with the fans, and making some new friends. Or acquaintances, at least. But then Jack, her ex, had called. And everything she had been trying to project, the cool, confident professional, went flying out the window.

"I didn't call for your permission, Liv," Jack's irritated voice came through the cell line with perfect clarity. "I called to tell you not to bother trying to get ahold of him this weekend."

The mom inside of Olivia roared to life in an instant. Bolting up in her seat, she turned toward the window – as though that would somehow block her from the rest of the vehicle. "You listen to me, you self-righteous son of a bitch. I am his mother. And in case you have forgotten, I'm the one who had to pick him up from the school when those kids you're letting him go camping with gave him drugs and got him expelled."

She couldn't tell which was worse – the tension between herself and Jack, or that which was about to suffocate her from inside the vehicle. Randy cleared his throat and shifted in the driver's seat, reaching for the radio. Trish smacked his hand and shot him a glare that said to watch the road and stop moving. And Jack was laughing in her ear.

"Don't even start," Jack sighed. "Don't give me that 'I'm such a great mom' bull shit, Liv. If you were half the mom you think you are, our son wouldn't be nearly as fucked up as he is."

The term 'seeing red' finally made sense to her. Punching the back of Christy's seat, she stared at the floor and imagined her first love's face. "And what did you do that was so fuckin' great, Jack? Huh?" She paused for a moment. "Oh, that's right – you fuckin' left before he was born! I'm sure your 'Dad of the Year' plaque is in the mail."

"At least he's not ashamed of me."

The words hit her in the gut and sank to her toes. Fighting the urge to throw up, she recycled the pain into fierce anger. "I did what I had to do to make sure that our son has a good life and future. You did what? Nothing. I'm sure he's real proud that you're a coward, and a quitter."

"I was 20 years old, Liv. What the fuck was I supposed to do with a kid?" he tried to defend.

Those in the car may have wondered how Olivia had gone from ranting about her son going on a camping trip, to fighting about her break up with the boy's father, in less than five minutes. But Olivia knew. She knew because it was the same fight they always had – who was the better parent? Who was justified in the choices they had made? Who was better for Brandon?

"And I was sixteen!" she shouted, seeing John flinch out of the corner of her eye. Had she taken a moment to think about what was going on, she would have been embarrassed. But Jack was so far inside her head, she couldn't focus on any of the rest of them. "You think I wanted this life? I didn't get a fuckin' choice!"

He laughed and she could tell he was rolling his eyes. "I gave you a choice, Olivia. I gave you five hundred dollars and a chance to stop this madness before it started. And you bought a fuckin' bus ticket and ran away."

She huffed and started to stand, only to remember that she was still in the back of a moving vehicle. "Ya know what? I'm not doing this with you again. I told you how I feel – I don't want Brandon going camping with those kids this weekend." Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat again. "He's not even eleven yet, and I don't think he should be out in the woods with no parental supervision."

"Devon's brothers are going to be there," Jack interrupted, pissing her off again.

Through clenched teeth, she stared out the window to her left. "Devon's brothers are in high school. They're not adults. They're pot-heads, and they're trouble." Throwing her hands up in the air, she sighed. "But he's your responsibility now, so the call is yours."

With that, she hung up the phone and closed her eyes, fighting tears and wishing someone would just say something.

Randy, who was never at a loss for words, cleared his throat again. "You know what I think we all need?" Trish shot him a look, but he just pointed out the window.

Adam smiled and rubbed his hands together. "Oh, yeah baby! Chili cheese fries and corndogs." Licking his lips, he turned and raised his eyebrows at the rest of their traveling companions. "What do you say? Truck stop food sound good?"

They all nodded, including Olivia, who had turned to look at the man in the seat beside her. "Sorry," she whispered when the rest of them had gone back to chatting.

He shook his head and reached across the seat to put a hand on her shoulder. "How do you feel about milkshakes?"

With a small smile, she shrugged and tried to push the rest of her life out of her mind. Over the last three weeks, her entire existence had become a delicate balancing act. She would always be a high school drop-out, forced to grow up too early, living a life she had always dreaded in order to provide for a child who, much like herself, had never asked to be born into his circumstances.

But every time she looked at, or talked to, John, she could feel the carefree twenty-seven-year-old begging to come out and play. A part of her wanted to fully experience life without the responsibilities of a juvenile delinquent and a mortgage. She had a good job, at least for a little while longer, and some fun people to spend her time with. She could never pretend that Brandon didn't exist, nor did she want to. But it wasn't every day that someone like her got a vacation from reality for awhile.

For the first time since signing her WWE contract, Olivia decided that she would embrace it. After nearly eleven years of just trying to survive, she was ready for something more. In two and a half months, it would all be over. And she wanted to make sure that she could look back at some period in her life without any regrets or doubts. And this was going to be her time.


	7. Stacy's Real Problem

Inside the diner, the girls had taken one booth, while the guys sank into one directly behind them. After ordering way too much food, with way too much grease, they ate in silence and then lounged in their seats, discussing the upcoming trip to Europe and other business-related topics. At least, the girls did. The boys were laughing loudly, attempting to throw chili-covered fries into each other's mouths across the table.

Stacy rolled her eyes as the three men continued their juvenile antics. "Do they even know they're not twelve anymore?"

John leaned back to catch the fry that Adam threw at him, accidentally bumping the back of Trish's head in the process. Christy smiled from beside the blonde woman, who only sighed and reached her arm back to smack John. "Watch it," she warned.

Olivia let a small smile of amusement drift over her lips. Sure, the three men behind them acted like little boys sometimes, but Olivia was used to little boys. Over the last ten years, little boys had become her only source of entertainment, so Randy, Adam, and John didn't bother her at all. The looks on Christy and Trish's faces said they didn't mind, either. But Stacy, Olivia noticed as she looked to the woman beside her, was nothing but irritated.

"Stacy here," Trish started to explain to Olivia, "thinks that the boys are obnoxious and immature."

"And the boys think," Randy called out from behind, tossing another fry at Adam, "that Stacy is," he stopped as his friend caught the fry.

All three men threw their hands up in victory as Adam wiped chili from his chin and then smiled at Stacy. "The boys think that Stacy is a stuck up prude who wouldn't know fun if it smacked her in the face with a ten-inch dildo," he winked at the young woman and chewed his food loudly.

Rolling her eyes again, Stacy sunk further into the seat and crossed her arms over her chest. "Just because I wouldn't sleep with you," she huffed.

Adam smiled and shrugged, drinking from the coffee cup in front of him. "That's one strike against you, yes," he admitted.

It was clear that she was not Stacy's favorite person, either, but Olivia didn't care. She was not about to have her entire experience as a diva de-railed because Stacy didn't like strippers. "Hey, Randy," she called, waiting for the blue-eyed Adonis to look her way. When he did, she hurled one of her own tater tots in his direction.

Opening his mouth on instinct, Randy caught the flying object and smacked the table happily. "Awesome," he winked.

Olivia wiggled out of her seat, standing on the imitation leather and climbing over the table. Christy moved out of her way quickly and Olivia scaled the back of the seat, dropping into the booth next to John.

Stacy watched as he shot one of those glowing smiles at the new girl, trying her best to suppress the anger that was bubbling up in her gut. She had always hated girls who were manipulative, who used mind games to get what they wanted. But now she was the one playing games, and she was losing.

When she left him, he was supposed to think about what he had done. He was supposed to realize that what was important to her was also important to him. He was supposed to see that she had a valid point, and that they belonged together. She had already decided that she would forgive him, if he would only ask her to.

But he wasn't asking. He wasn't thinking about, or realizing, anything. Because he was too busy macking on a stripper. A stripper who was damn good at what she did, if Adam's assessment was correct. And when it came to strippers, nobody knew how to assess better than Adam Copeland.

Slumping even further into the booth, Stacy sighed in resignation. She had played her hand, hoped for the best, and lost the greatest thing she had going for her. "She's really a good girl, Stace," Trish's voice invaded her thoughts.

Stacy looked at her friend and narrowed her eyes. Maybe she could admit defeat, but she would not, could not, like Olivia. "Good girls don't take their clothes off for money, Trish."

With an eyebrow arched, Trish crossed her arms. "But they strip down to their bra and panties and hit each other with feather pillows on national television?"

"It's not the same thing."

Rolling her hazel eyes, Trish leaned her elbows on the table. "It's exactly the same thing and you know it. You don't show nipple, but it doesn't make it any less tempting." Sipping from her straw, she watched the conflict on Stacy's face. "We're still bein' all sexy, trying to get the guys in the crowd aroused. Some of them are married, too, Stace. Some of 'em have girlfriends at home."

Somewhere deep inside, she knew Trish was right. But she wasn't about to admit that she was anything like that fake-ass bimbo flirting with her ex. "At least I don't need collagen and silicone to turn a man on," she spat weakly.

Trish laughed and rolled her eyes, turning to Christy, who had grown strangely quiet. "Do you need to use the bathroom, Christy?"

Nodding gratefully, Christy waited for Trish to stand and then scurried out of the booth. When she was gone, the Canadian diva slid back into the booth and ignored Randy's catcalls from behind her. "Is that what this is all about, Stace?" Stacy looked oblivious. "It's not the nudity? It's the implants?"

Stacy threw her arms up in defeat and huffed. No one understood it. Nobody would ever understand it. Was she wrong? Was she way out of line to believe in some degree of moral and ethical decorum? "What kind of message are we sending to the world? That A-cups and natural beauty isn't sexy? That you have to have big boobs and long hair to turn a man on?"

In that moment, Trish Stratus had enough. She had listened to Stacy bitch, whine, and moan about this topic for far too long. "Alright, look – you wear make up right? And jewelry?" Stacy nodded. "You hit the tanning bed? Dye your hair?" Again, Stacy nodded, this time with an eye-roll for good measure. "All those things enhance your beauty, Stace." She shrugged her shoulders. "So ours are surgical. So what?"

"So what?" Stacy exploded. "I can't compete with that. I'm never gonna get John back with Miss Enhanced to Perfection battin' her fake eyelashes at him."

All eyes in the restaurant were now on the blonde women in the center booth. Christy came out of the bathroom as Stacy charged out the front door. "What happened?"

Trish pointed toward the path of dust her friend had left and motioned for Christy to go after her. Smacking Randy's shoulder until he scooted closer to Adam, she sank to the seat and looked across the table. John and Olivia concentrated on their hands, like school kids who had been caught doing something naughty. "Now look what you've done," Trish smiled.

John looked up and let a tiny grin crack his lips. "Right. Because Stace and I were so perfect together," he defended slightly.

Olivia said nothing, only looked around for some escape. She had wanted two and a half months with no regrets – she hadn't lasted one day.

"Ya know what I think?" Randy stated, looking out the door to where Stacy and Christy were talking in the parking lot.

"That Stacy just needs to get laid?" Trish asked, laughing when he turned his smile to her.

"I swear, baby, it's like you can read my mind," he said, kissing her firmly, his hand running down her shoulder.

"Right, because it's a real stretch of the imagination to guess you might be thinkin' about sex," Adam accused, smacking the back of Randy's head until he stopped kissing his girlfriend. "Dude, come on," he begged.

When Olivia finally risked a glance at John, she found him smiling at her reassuringly. "I feel like I should apologize for something," she whispered.

Slipping his arm around the back of her seat, John ignored the fact that three faces were staring at them intently from the other side of the booth. "Look, whatever happened between me and Stacy, happened before you came along, okay?"

Nodding, she took another drink of the coffee in front of her and forced the butterflies out of her stomach. It's not like they were a couple. They were just friends. She didn't need to get too attached to anyone, especially someone she had the potential to fall madly in love with.


	8. Fire and Ashes

**Stripped**

_A/N: Sorry, I didn't really give you guys a note yesterday - I was kinda in a hurry. This story was supposed to be all angsty and sad from the beginning, but now that there's a new guy in my life, angsty is kinda hard to come by. So if it takes me a little bit longer to post the chapters, blame him. Thanks for all your great reviews - I'm glad you're all loving Olivia. And now, for those of you who have been waiting for her and John to have some kind of moment alone. . . I don't own 'em. Enjoy!

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After the episode at the truck stop, Stacy had apologized to John for her blow-up. Three weeks later, she had yet to say a word to Olivia. Not that the newest diva was complaining – she had more than her share of friends and acquaintances, and she didn't feel the need to force a relationship with someone who had no interest in her. Between her diva duties, teaching Trish the perfect lap dance, and hanging out with the guys, she found her schedule pretty full, and she was loving it.

Making her way down the hall of their latest hotel, Olivia checked her key card, found the corresponding door, and then turned to look over her shoulder. "You really didn't have to carry all of those," she smiled at John, who was trying his best to balance his luggage and hers. "I could've helped."

Shaking his head, he plastered a grin on his reddened face and tried to pretend it was no big deal. "Nah," he grunted, setting the two biggest suitcases on the ground as she opened the door.

John waited for her to enter the foyer and then stepped in behind her, gasping in spite of himself. It wasn't just a suite – it was the biggest, fanciest, most expensive-looking suite he had ever seen. And he had seen a lot of big, fancy, expensive suites. "You have got to be kidding me," he finally muttered.

The room was extravagant, she knew. But she always pampered herself on nights when she had to entertain. Shallow as it seemed, coming home to a great view and a plush bed made her feel like she was worth a little more than the tips and the fee she would earn for her services. Olivia sat her purse on the entry table and then looked over her shoulder. "What?"

Without even attempting to hide his amazement, John stepped further into the room, letting his eyes drift over the sunken living room, up the spiraling staircase, and into the loft bedroom. "This is your room?"

Nodding, she just turned nonchalantly and began to bring in the bags from the hall. It wasn't the most glamorous room she'd ever shelled out a grand for, but if he was impressed, she wouldn't rain on his parade. "Is there something wrong with it?" she asked with a smile, moving into the living room to stand behind him.

John turned, his blue eyes wide. "Are you fuckin' kidding me? Wrong?" he laughed and moved to the picture window, which gave them an aerial view of downtown Houston, Texas. "I've never seen anyone get a room like this on the road. I mean, Randy gets 'em for Trish sometimes, but we don't really see the inside, ya know?"

Olivia smiled and sank to the soft, leather couch. Turning her head to side, she wondered, for a moment, how a guy like John could be impressed with something as simple as a hotel room. He was the WWE champion, after all. He traveled all the time, promoting his album and the company. Surely the put him up in places far nicer than this. "What about you and Stacy? I'm sure you did romantic shit like that for her all the time."

At the mention of his ex-girlfriend's name, John tore his eyes from the view and looked at the woman across the room from him. She was insecure about her own worth, unsure of her place in the world, and unsatisfied with her station in life. But she sat before him a contradiction to all of that, statuesque and dignified beyond any and all circumstances. It was that poise, that intangible quality, that had drawn him in from day one, and kept him practically attached to her hip everyday thereafter.

He didn't speak, only watched her with that unnerving stare that she couldn't seem to get enough of. Olivia had told herself, more than once over the last few weeks, that those eyes would be the end of her if she wasn't careful. But she wasn't sure how to protect against them anymore. Every defense that she put up, he seemed to barrel right through. If anyone in this company was her friend, it was John. And she was happy about that.

Forcing herself to break the gaze, she stood and wiped her hands on her jeans. "Well, you're welcome to hang out in here tonight, if you want," she offered, moving toward her suitcase. "Why don't you invite the guys over?" She pulled the luggage toward the stairs. "You can order some room service and chill after the show?"

With a grunt, she climbed onto the first step and tried to hoist the heavy suitcase after her. It didn't budge. After watching three more attempts, John finally stepped up to offer a hand. Following her up the stairs, he tried his best not to stare at her perfect ass as it moved back and forth with each step she ascended. "So, you're sure you'd be cool with us crashing your pad?"

Olivia's laughter rang through the open space as she reached the bedroom and flung herself onto the large bed. Staring at the ceiling, she shrugged. "Of course," she answered easily, resting her hands on her tight stomach as she played with the hem of her tee shirt. "I'm not gonna be here anyway," she added softly.

The mood in the room seemed to shift in an inexplicable moment. John looked around, as if he could somehow locate the cause of the awkwardness. "What do you mean?" he asked suspiciously.

Struggling to sit with a grunt, Olivia ran her hand over the top of her ponytail and offered him a small smile. "I'm doin' a bachelor party in the penthouse."

"A bachelor party?" It clicked and John found himself a bit nauseous. "You're dancing?" Shaking the cobwebs from his brain, he lowered himself to the bed beside her. "But I thought you were taking a break."

She nodded and stood. "I am. From the pole," she explained, opening her suitcase and digging around. "But Vince is letting me book some private parties for supplemental income." She threw a tiny, lime green G-string onto the bed and returned to rummaging through her bag.

It didn't make sense for him to be jealous. He knew who she was, what she did before she walked into his life, and he was fine with it. Hell, he was grateful for it. But the more he got to know Olivia Stewart, the woman and mother, the further back in his mind Olivia Dawn, the sex symbol and stripper, seemed to slip. "So, why do you need to supplement? I mean, you said you have some cash saved up." He tried to be cool about it, but the uneasy feeling in his gut wouldn't leave him alone.

One of the things he loved most about Olivia was her ability to stand her ground when she knew she was right. Except now. Now that she was giving him the "determined" look, he wasn't so crazy about it. "Brandon's birthday is in a week, and I wanna get him something phenomenal."

Laying back on the bed, John felt the child inside starting to ball his fists. There was a major, kid-sized tantrum just waiting to be unleashed, and he wasn't altogether unsure he could control it. "Sure. Because nothin' else is workin', so you might as well buy the kid off."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted them. But Olivia only rolled her eyes and went about setting lotions and sprays over the vanity opposite the bed. "I'm not trying to buy him," she assured him, sinking to the bench and staring at herself in the mirror. "I just miss him. And I'm not gonna be the one sending him cheap-ass gifts when I can't be there. That's his dad's job."

Smiling in spite of himself, John rolled off the bed and walked over to her. Watching, he found himself mesmerized as she lifted her thick hair onto her head and then considered herself carefully. With his hands on her shoulders, he met her eyes in the mirror and offered her a smile.

"Besides, it can't hurt to put a little more cash in Brandon's college fund, right?" She tried to return the smile, but the expression failed to reach her eyes.

Without missing a beat, he answered, "It hurts you."

Her eyes flickered with something inexplicable, but she blinked it away, hoping he hadn't seen it. Standing, she patted his shoulder and then moved toward the bed, beginning to shed her shirt. It was awkward, for some reason, to take her clothes off for him. But if she was going to do it for a room full of drunken idiots later, she might as well do it for a friend now.

Grabbing the shirt before she could get it over her head, John guided the fabric back down over her bra and then took her hands. "Stop it, Olivia," he commanded.

She froze, biting her lip as she stared into his eyes, as if in a trance. "What?"

"I can see right through you," he assured her, letting go of her right hand and cupping her cheek with his palm. "For the last three weeks, there's been this blaze in your eyes, like you're loving life again. Like you're on fire." Rubbing his thumb over her lip, he spoke words he hadn't planned, but that flowed easily. "But right now? When you're talkin' about dancin' again?" He shook his head. "Ashes."

For weeks, she had been trying to hold him at bay, getting just close enough to entertain innocent fantasies of long movie nights, drifting off to sleep in each other's arms, without needing anything more. But it was clear now, as he held her face and drilled her with his penetrating stare, that he had wormed his way so much closer to her heart. "I do what I have to do to take care of Brandon," she whispered weakly. "Even if it kills me."

"You're doin' it for Brandon, huh?" She nodded sincerely. "Olivia, don't you think. . ." he started to tell her all the things he had been thinking since getting to know her.

But she held up a hand and stepped out of his reach. "Stop it," she insisted, shaking her head. This wasn't supposed to happen. She was supposed to enjoy her time with her wrestling friends, and then tolerate her time with "private" clients. The two weren't supposed to be concerned with each other.

He took another step forward, but Olivia jumped onto the bed and stared at him. "There is nothing that you can tell me that I haven't already heard, okay? No look of disappointment that you can give that I haven't already seen a hundred times in the mirror." Tears cascaded down her cheeks as she went on, her voice cracking. "I know I fucked him up, okay? But I just can't take hearing what a failure I am from one more person that I care about."

With his heart breaking, he watched as her body collapsed onto the bed. The fun-loving, super-cool, strong and independent woman he had considered his friend over the last few weeks, was now a sobbing, uncontrollable heap in the middle of a bed that dwarfed her and made her look like a small child. Unable to stand the sight, he climbed onto the mattress and wrapped his arms around her. "Come here."

Olivia gave up control of her body as he lifted her into his arms. Burying her face in his chest, she continued to let herself cry. For too long, she had dammed up the well of emotions inside, trying to be strong and brave for her son. She had spent her entire life trying to prove, to everyone else, that she could handle any card life dealt her. And for once, it felt nice to let it go.

When her shoulders stopped shaking, and her breathing returned to normal, John pulled back and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Better?"

Nodding, Olivia offered him a genuine smile. "Kinda, yeah."

Relief flooded over him as he felt her regain some of her composure. Standing, he pulled her to her feet and pointed to the attire she had laid out on the bed. "Now, you go do your party, okay? You get those guys all hot and bothered like you're so good at. And then, come back here and we'll Playstation it for awhile. Or we'll throw things at Adam so he has something to blame his horrible hand-eye coordination on, okay?"

She sniffled, laughed, and nodded all at once. That's when she looked into his eyes and realized that everything had changed. He had seen her cry. He wasn't just a co-worker or teammate. He wasn't even just a friend. Arykah, George, Rico, and Melinda had seen her cry. And now John, too, was family.


	9. Snapshots in My Mind

**Stripped**

_A/N: Thanks again for the reviews. You guys don't know how much it means to me that you're diggin' this. I love that. Anyway, not really anything special to tell you about this chapter. Hope you dig it. I don't own 'em, and you all know it. Enjoy!

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John liked to think he was pretty good at reading people. He spent a fair amount of his time hanging back and watching them interact, listening more than talking, and he was usually pretty certain of their intentions before they made them known. But Olivia was one safe he just couldn't seem to crack.

There were moments when they were clearly friends, laughing and joking together as though they'd known each other forever. And there were moments when they were clearly co-workers, studying tape and debating the business in general. There were even moments when they flirted, trading winks and innuendos. But, for the life of him, he couldn't tell if she wanted him to act on his feelings, or keep them bottled up inside.

And this night had been more confusing than most. Their show had been early, so he and Adam arrived at her suite as she was leaving for her party. Distraught, she explained that she never did a solo show without a bodyguard at the door, but that she had forgotten to book one for the evening. John had, for reasons he still couldn't explain, offered to do the job. And he had watched with pure amazement as she paid careful attention to every man in that penthouse, giving them just enough of what they wanted to keep them wanting more.

She finished her performance with no incidents, and John followed her back to the suite like a faithful puppy, wanting to comment on the poetic and graceful manner in which she worked. But every time he started to tell her how magical she was, he thought about that broken woman on the bed, and he just couldn't say anything. She needed all of the ego-boosting she could get, he knew, but he just couldn't bring himself to compliment the work she hated.

Now he was stuck watching her again, this time from the kitchenette of the spacious suite. Randy and Adam were playing some football video game, and Olivia was trying her best not to laugh as Trish tried to execute a back bend in the lap dance that her new friend had been teaching her. She didn't just have a beautiful body. She wasn't just a beautiful girl. She was a beautiful person. Especially when she smiled.

"No," Olivia finally laughed, grabbing Trish's back and standing her upright before she broke herself. "You're over-thinking," she insisted, her hands on the shorter woman's shoulders. "Watch." Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to watch as Olivia stood beside the chair and carefully bent backward, grabbing the seat and flipping herself over. "Like that."

"Oh, bravo," Adam clapped his hands and stood, sticking his thumb and middle finger in his mouth to whistle loudly. "That was beautiful."

Olivia rolled her eyes and smiled sheepishly before casting a glance at John. He was smiling, but there was something deeper behind his blue eyes. Something that looked like a mixture between lust, awe, and jealousy. It was the look he always gave her when he didn't want to share her attention with Adam and Randy. He thought she didn't recognize it, that she hadn't figured it out. And she would let him keep thinking that.

There was absolutely no reason for her get involved with John. He was her friend, and that was good enough. But something about the way his lips curled up when she said something funny, and the way his eyes twinkled when he told her a story he knew she would like, made her tummy flutter a little bit. It was an innocent feeling that she hadn't experienced in a long time, and she liked entertaining it, even if it wasn't permanent.

"Hey, Liv," Randy called out, interrupting the unspoken moment between Olivia and John.

"Hmm?" she asked, tearing her eyes from the man at the kitchen counter.

Randy smiled and nodded toward Trish. "Teach her that thing you do on your knees."

Blushing deeply, Olivia looked at the ground and then at Trish, who raised an eyebrow in amusement. "That thing on your knees, huh?" Turning back to Randy, she put her hands on her narrow hips. "I thought you already liked the things I do on my knees."

Throwing his controller at the television with a loud thud, Adam groaned. "God dammit, you two. We get that all you ever do is fuck, but can't you just talk about something else for a minute?"

"Awe," Olivia pouted slightly. "Someone sounds sexually frustrated." Moving slowly toward him, she rested her hand on his shoulder. "You want me to show you that thing I do on my knees?"

Without a word, Adam, and everyone else, watched as Olivia drug her fingers over his shoulders and circled around until she was standing directly in front of his place on the couch. Bending at her waist, she placed her palms on his knees and looked at him through her thick lashes before pushing his legs apart. She dropped to her knees in a fluid motion and slid her hands up to his thighs. Sticking her chest forward, she slowly rolled her body up, brushing it ever-so-slightly against his. When she had returned to her full height, she met his eye, and swung one leg over his, then the other, straddling his lap as she threw her head back and draped her arms around his neck.

His breathing was ragged, and a silence engulfed the room as she dismounted and stood before them, smiling at Trish's shocked expression. "That's the thing on my knees," she shrugged, moving toward the kitchen for a bottle of water.

"That was fuckin' phenomenal," Trish clapped finally, giggling.

Randy reached over the arm of the couch and grabbed her, pulling her into his lap. "You think you can do it, baby?"

She shook her head and looked back at Olivia over her shoulder. "Are you kidding? I want her to do me next," she winked at her friend.

Olivia's laughter was mildly amused as she leaned next to John at the counter. "Hey, you," she smiled, nudging him with her shoulder. "Whatcha doin' over here by yourself?"

Without thinking, he answered. "Tryin' to hide how much I liked that little move you just pulled." A light pink tint crept into his ears, spreading to his cheeks as he thought about what he had just said. "Um. . ."

Putting a hand on his atop the counter, Olivia shook her dark hair and met his eye. "Did you mean it?" He nodded and she nearly buckled at the sincerity radiating back at her. "Then don't take it back."

Her words said that she appreciated the compliment, but her eyes said that she needed it. As she leaned her body against his shoulder and ran her fingers over the back of his hand, he wished to God he had the balls to do what he really wanted. If she knew how badly he wanted her, would it flatter her, or make her run scared? If she knew how unfriendly his thoughts were at the moment, would she return them, or shut him down and end the best thing he'd had goin' with a woman in years?

Olivia watched a myriad of emotions play across John's handsome features as he avoided her eye and watched his friends in the living room. There were moments in time that she preserved like snapshots in her mind. Her first sexual experience. Brandon's birth. The day she purchased her own home. The first night she headlined at Pandora's. Her debut on RAW. They were all milestones, monumental in the scope of her mind.

And, as she put her palm on John's cheek and turned his face toward hers, she felt the shutter in her mind snapping their first kiss into her memory. It wasn't something she had pondered, plotted, and planned. And it wasn't something that she had over-analyzed or talked herself into, or out of. It was natural, instinctual. And it felt more right than anything had in a long time.

Crash and burn tomorrow, or live in the flames of eternal passion forever. It didn't matter to Olivia as he pulled back and smiled at her, shock giving way to a peaceful contentment. Turning his hand upward, he wrapped his fingers around hers and raised them to his lips, carefully kissing her knuckles and then letting go of her hand.

Another smile passed between them, along with a million unspoken terms of endearment and affection. It wasn't love, not in a dramatic, epic sort of way. Olivia didn't believe in that love, and John wasn't sure he was ready for another whirlwind romance. He may not have been able to read her well, but he was sure now, without having to say a word, that they were on the same page. And the book was pretty damn hard to put down.


	10. The Rain in Spain

**Stripped**

_A/N: Alright, so a quick note about this chapter. Since I decided to write this story, this is the chapter I have been waiting to write. There is something so seductive about the concept of dancing in the rain, and I couldn't wait to put it down on paper. Hopefully, you'll all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it for you. As an overly-sensitive disclaimer,I realize that rain is probably not the most welcomed topic of conversation in the United States right now.I don't think there's anything offensive here, but I wanted you to know that there is a lot of water imagery and stuff, just in case it's not something you can handle at the moment. _

_Also, I just wanted to let you know that I've updated my profile page with my AIM screen name, as well as adding a few wrestlers and divas to my list of favorite things - so check it out if you feel like.As always, I don't ownJohn, nobody owns Olivia, and I hope you Enjoy!

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Once, when Olivia was in ninth grade, her class had gone on a field trip to Windsor, Ontario, Canada. It was the first, and only, time that the twenty-seven-year-old had ever been out of the United States. Until she became a WWE diva.

In less than two weeks, she had seen Germany, Austria, Finland, Holland, the UK, and Ireland. And now, from the picture window in John's hotel room, she let her eyes drift Madrid, Spain. It was better than any dream she could have imagined, and yet her heart wasn't fully in the experience.

She still had a month left before she had to make a decision about her career, but tomorrow, she would fly to Jacksonville and see Brandon for the first time in nearly two months. He had called three days ago and asked if she could come to his first BMX tournament, and she wasn't about to let wild horses keep her from showing up. Seeing Jack would be uncomfortable, but when she had heard her son's hesitant voice whisper "I kinda miss you, Mom" over the static-filled cell connection, she didn't care about anything else.

John shut the door behind his friends as they finished their good-byes and piled out of his room for the night. Turning, he watched Olivia hug her arms over her stomach and stare hypnotically at the star-filled Spanish night. Speaking would only break the artistic image she created, framed by the moonlight in his room. Instead, he walked to her side, brushing her shoulder lightly with his own.

"When Brandon was little, he was so afraid of the rain." He couldn't be certain, but he almost thought she was addressing the rain that had started falling, smacking against the balcony just beyond the window, more than him. "Every time we'd get a good down pour, he would just totally freak out." She reached her slender fingers to the window, resting them against the cool glass, as if to feel the water herself. "I told him that rain was what we got when God cried, that he must be sad about something, and that we had to make him feel better."

John smiled to himself. His own mother had told him the same thing, that the drops from heaven were tears from God. It wasn't the first time Olivia had reminded him of his own mom. Not in a twisted or perverse way, but in a calming manner that made him feel like he was home again.

"I used to tell him to put his bathing suit on, and we would go outside, no matter what time it was, and we would dance in the rain. Just twirling in circles together, until he started laughing." She turned her head to the side, smiling at the memory. "He always ended up laughing. Just before the rain stopped. And I used to tell him that his laugh was so great that it made God stop crying. It made him smile."

Olivia stopped as another round of emotions swept over her. Little things, like funny faces and silly dances, used to make Brandon smile all the time. She used to be able to bring that laugh out of him by kissing his forehead or saying something stupid. But things had changed. When she stopped long enough to let her thoughts linger on him, she felt like he would never laugh again, and that the rain would never stop.

Leaving her side, John walked to the bedside table and turned on the clock radio. Some sexual hip hop song filled the air, causing Olivia to jump and look his way. With a slight blush, John apologetically turned the station until a sultry R&B ballad drifted over the room. Moving slowly back to her side, he slid the picture window open and stepped onto the balcony, shivering slightly as the rain poured over his head and shoulders.

When he offered her his hand, Olivia wanted to melt. She was still wearing the flimsy sundress that she had sported at their "Farewell to Europe" dinner, and it was doing little to keep the cold at bay. But inside, she felt like she was on fire.

"I don't really dance," John admitted, his breath warming her ear as she stepped into his embrace.

Taking both of his hands in hers, Olivia guided his hands to her hips and then wrapped her arms around his neck. "Just hold me, then," she whispered.

As the water cascaded over her head, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back, gently shaking her rain-soaked curls and allowing the salty drops to wash her tears away. She was in Spain, on a balcony in the rain, wrapped in the arms of a man who adored her. There was no reason to cry. Meeting his gaze, she stepped closer, brushing her body against his.

It was as if swaying her hips did something to her, something primal and sensual. He dragged his fingers along her back, feeling the heat of her skin just beyond the chill of her wet dress. She raked her fingernails along the nape of his neck and rested her head on his shoulder, her breath hot against the cool moisture on his throat. If she didn't realize how much he wanted her after this, there was nothing he else he could do to show her.

The feeling of his wet jeans against her thigh, along with his increasingly insistent erection, set Olivia on fire. The desire that was rumbling throughout her body was almost a foreign concept. It had been so long since she had wanted anyone like she wanted him. But as he bent his head, breathing softly against her ear, she felt the once-familiar tingly sensation gathering low in her belly. And as he trailed his fingertips up her spine, she welcomed the wetness, not one caused by the cool rain, but by the heat building in her core.

Dragging his hands away from her body before he did something they would both regret, he tried to step away. But her hands under his tee shirt, the rise and fall of her chest, and the look in her eyes begged him not to stop. Running his fingers through her hair, he carefully tucked it behind her ears and pulled her face to his. There were sounds all around them – a busy city getting ready for bed, wind whipping through the trees near the hotel, and rain smacking the balcony around them – but neither could hear anything more than the heavy breathing of the other.

John sucked Olivia's bottom lip between his, and ran his tongue over the plump skin. She wrapped her arms tighter around his waist, surrendering to the kiss, as she hugged him desperately. She had been kissed before, sometimes by men who claimed to love her. But none of them had ever made her skin vibrate or her toes curl.

When John pulled back, and Olivia finally opened her eyes, a small smile of resignation tugged at the corners of his lips. "Want me to walk you back to your room?"

For more than two weeks, this had been the practice: Flirt, kiss, talk, kiss some more, and then Olivia would pull away and tell him she was sorry for teasing him, but she just wasn't ready for the complications that sex would add to their relationship. It was frustrating, to be sure. Stacy had been ready whenever he was, sometimes two or three times over the course of the day. But Olivia wasn't Stacy, and he didn't want their relationship to be anything like that one had been.

Swallowing the butterflies that were body-slamming each other in her stomach, Olivia clasped both of his hands in hers. "Let me stay with you." He turned, his eyebrow raised in slight surprise. But Olivia's eyes were serious, and they were pleading. "Be with me tonight."


	11. My First Orgasm by Olivia Stewart

**Stripped**

**(This chapter contains mature content)**

_A/N: It has been brought to my attention that I **may** have ended the last chapter on a bit of a cliffhanger (**cough, cough**,** bkrbunny, cough**). Oops. Sorry to make you wait a couple of days for what you've been wanting, but I was really determined to write a sex scene that was worthy of the emotional relationship these two have been building. I hope it doesn't disappoint. Do I still need to disclaim? I don't own shit, and you all know it. Enjoy!

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By the time her words registered in his mind, Olivia had already moved inside the room. When he stepped inside and slid the glass door behind him, she was toweling her hair and standing near the bed. "Are you sure?" he asked, as she threw a towel at him.

Olivia watched him carefully as he peeled his tee shirt off and ran the towel over his soaked skin. With a raised eyebrow, she considered the fact that she **was** sure. With one hundred percent clarity, she knew what she wanted. Him.

Nodding slowly, she licked her lips and crossed her arms over her body, lifting the hem of her dress up her hips. But John moved quickly, tossing his towel to the side and grabbing her arms. Olivia's hurt expression nearly broke his heart. "Come here," he whispered, pulling her toward the bed.

She followed him to the bed and then crawled up when he motioned to the mattress. On her knees, she leaned forward and held his face in her trembling hands. The words "I love you" flitted through her mind, but she pressed her lips to his in an attempt to stop them from flowing out. His tongue plunged deep into her mouth, roving over the top of hers as she turned her head to give him better access.

Retracting his fingers from her hair, John slowly ran his hands over her arms, feeling her shiver beneath his tender touch. Though it had only been a couple of months, he felt like he had been waiting for this moment forever. And he didn't want to ruin it by forcing anything or moving too quickly. Finally, the tips of his fingers reached the hem of her dress, and he slowly lifted it over her thighs.

It would seem silly, almost girlie, to admit that he didn't want her taking her clothes off for him at that moment. He had promised, time and again, that he didn't mind her occupation. He knew that she stripped for strange men who didn't give a damn about her feelings or her heart. But he wanted all of her - every physical, mental, spiritual, and emotional piece - and he wanted to uncover it himself.

Her breath caught in her throat as he worked at a painstaking pace, trailing quick, gentle kisses along her rain-moistened skin. His tongue made contact with her belly button, as his hands held the gathered fabric of her dress just under her breasts. With an accidental giggle, Olivia felt her abs tighten as she ran her fingers over his hair. The feeling of his lips turning up in a small smile against her stomach erased her laughter though, causing a deep moan that she hadn't expected.

The temptation to pull back and watch her as he uncovered her breasts was more than he could fight, so John ceased his kisses and stood to his full height. When Olivia lifted her arms above her head, he pulled the dress over her arms and dropped it to the floor, never taking his eyes off of hers. The glimmer of anticipation in her emerald orbs was more arousing than any part of her naked form. Well, almost.

Glad that she had chosen a matching bra and panty set, she brushed her lace-covered chest against his bare one and licked her lips again. Unable to keep a genuine smile of happiness at bay any longer, she beamed and rested her forehead against his. Running the tips of her fingernails down his chest, she attached her lips to his throat, sucking as she fumbled with the buckle of his belt. For a moment, she wondered if it had been too long since she had tried to take someone's pants off.

John seemed to sense her apprehension, and gently covered her hand with his own, guiding his belt through the buckle. Laying her tiny hand flat against his belly, he opened the button and slid the zipper of his jeans down, letting the pants fall to the floor. Her touch was igniting a fire in his gut that he knew he wouldn't be able to hold off for long.

Kissing her firmly again, he crawled on to the bed before her and gently laid her body back against the bedspread. Hovering over her, he rested his weight on his elbows and smiled, grasping for anything to break the tension their silence was causing. "Don't close your eyes," he whispered in her ear, before wrapping his lips around the lobe and letting his tongue circle the tender flesh.

As if his words held some hypnotic power, Olivia fixed her gaze on the ceiling and tried not to blink. His linked his right hand with her left and raised it above their heads, slowly running his free fingers down her side, resting them on her hips. His kisses moved from her ear, down her jaw, and to the hollow of her throat, before he started a trek along her collarbone with his tongue.

With a chaste kiss on her shoulder, John pulled back and smiled again when he found her eyes open, watching him intently. "Please," she whispered.

Untangling his fingers from hers, hooked his index fingers inside her panties and slid them down her thighs, his breath brushing her neck as he lowered his head to watch her unclasp her strapless bra. Both tossed her underwear to the floor, and John started to slide his own down his narrow hips. Until Olivia covered his hand with her own.

"Let me," she stated, though it sounded more like a question for permission.

John gasped as she leaned forward and tugged on his underwear, her bare breasts brushing his chest. Without much thought, he plunged a hand into her hair and roughly pulled her lips to his own. That one moment of contact seemed to send him into an animalistic place, one where his desire was released and his self-control was chased into the night.

To Olivia, the temperature in the room seemed to have dropped substantially. The air-conditioner hummed somewhere in the background, and she felt goose bumps raising all along her legs and arms. Grasping John's shoulders, she pulled his body to hers desperately, using him as a blanket against the cold. Her legs wrapped around his thighs of their own volition, and she found her hands kneading and grasping at the soft skin of his ass as though taken over by a frantic craving.

As soon as her heated wetness touched his rock-hard shaft, John lost any and all thoughts of slowly showing her how much he appreciated her spirit and mind. Kissing her with a reckless abandon, he plunged deep into her, grunting when her muffled scream vibrated against his tongue. If there was such a thing as the perfect fit, John had found it.

Olivia's moans evolved into gutteral gasps and groans of pure ecstasy as he dipped his head to one of her breasts and sucked the taut nipple between his kiss-swollen lips. The plastic surgeon had warned her that one of the risks of implants was that she may not regain total feeling in her nipples. Had she been able to form a coherent thought, she would have made a mental note to assure him that was not the case.

After a few minutes of slowing his pace, speeding it up, and then slowing back down, John leaned back and looked straight into Olivia's eyes. She touched his face for a second and then thrust herself against him hard, taking him all in and holding him there as she began to contract. She mumbled something that he interpreted as "I'm gonna come," and he began to thrust harder. The sound of his name rolling off of her lips was sweetest sound he had ever heard, and it pushed him into a violent release.

For the first time in her life, Olivia knew what "earth-shattering orgasm" meant. If she thought hard, back to her first time, she could maybe remember climaxing. But she couldn't recall a single other time it had happened, and it had never been like that.

When she sighed contentedly, John pulled out and rolled to the side, staring at the ceiling. Everything inside of him wanted to hold her, but he wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. They weren't lovers, not by definition, not yet. They were friends, who made out sometimes, and now had slept together. But they weren't dating, and they weren't making any future plans together. And he had no idea how she felt about being touched after sex. So he kept his hands to himself.

"Would it be wrong to tell you that I really don't want you to leave me tomorrow?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Olivia smiled, resting one palm against her stomach as she ran the back of her other hand over his arm. "Not wrong," she sighed, her eyes drifting shut.

"Then I really wish you didn't have to leave me tomorrow," he smiled, rolling onto his side to study her face.

A laugh forced its way out of her belly and into the quiet room. "You could always come with me," she offered. "You're Brandon's favorite, ya know?"

The room, which had been thick with sexual tension for nearly an hour, seemed comfortable now, free of inhibitions and frustrated longing. "Right," John rolled his eyes. "Because that whole situation's not fucked up enough already."

She ran her index finger over his lip and then rolled onto her side to face him. His cheek felt smooth and warm under her palm, and she finally allowed herself to believe that it was real. Every surreal, dream-like moment had really happened. And she was really happy. "He'd love it." _And so would I._

"So," John grunted as he forced himself to a seated position, leaning against the headboard and beaming a 1000-watt grin down on her, "you're using me to win back the boy wonder, huh?"

As a giggle escaped her throat, she looked down at her feet and wiggled her toes. She felt better than happy. She felt giddy. Flirty, even. Hell, she felt like a school girl with a first crush. John had done the impossible – he had made her feel naïve and innocent again. For that alone, she thought, she could love him forever.

"No, baby," she smiled, throwing her bare leg over his thigh and running her heel over his other knee. "I'm using you to do indescribable things to my body."

The expression on her face was one he hadn't seen from her yet, one that he was determined to keep firmly planted there, no matter what he had to do. The look in her eyes said that she was thinking of something other than her own insecurity and self-worthlessness for the moment. She was free. And she was absolutely breath-taking.

Without another hesitation, he pulled her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. "Give me twenty minutes to power nap, and I promise you – I will not disappoint."

As Olivia drifted off to sleep, one thought kept running from the recesses of her mind, to the forefront, blinking in huge flashing letters. "DON'T RUN."


	12. Relieving the Tension

**Stripped**

**A/N: So it's been awhile, huh? This story has been sitting on the back burner for so long, I'll be surprised if most of you even remember it. Anyway, I'm back with a new installment, and hopefully it won't take so long to get another chapter up. As usual, I only own Olivia. Enjoy!

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The Florida breezed whipped through Olivia's dark hair as she nodded her head to the hip-hop beat on the radio and rested her hand against John's thigh. After much pleading, she had finally convinced him to accompany her on the journey to visit her family. His hesitation was still evident, even as they boarded the plane, but offering to let him drive the convertible rental to the bike park seemed to erase all thoughts of protest from his mind.

Tangling his fingers with hers, John kept one eye on the road, and glanced at Olivia out the corner of the other. She was holding her fingernail between her teeth and staring straight ahead, a tiny hint of green tinting her perfect features. "You okay?"

Smiling, she turned and nodded. "I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?" It was the furthest thing from the truth – nerves were about to make her lose her lunch, and her mind. But admitting that she was terrified of seeing her son again made her sound like a horrible mother, and she wasn't about to confess any such thing.

"He wants you there," John spoke in a soft tone as she leaned her head onto his shoulder. If they never reached their destination, if they only drove forever just like this, he would have been happy. Holding her hand against his leg, feeling her warm breath on his neck, knowing that she was happy to have him at her side? It was all contributing to his version of the perfect day.

With a sigh, Olivia let go of his hand and started to click her fingernails together. "It's been a long time," she sighed, willing her stomach to stop flipping as signs for their exit started to appear. "Two months is the longest I have ever been away from him. What if he forgets me? What if he isn't happy to see me? What if he takes one look at me and just remembers why he hates me so much?"

Rolling his eyes, John rested his hand against her bare thigh and ran it up her smooth skin. The skirt she was wearing gave him perfect access to the sensitive skin inside her legs, and he allowed his fingers to dance over it while he assured her that everything would be fine. "Come here," he smiled, keeping his eyes on the road as her breathing hitched slightly.

"What the hell are you doing?" Olivia asked, casting her eyes down to watch his hand disappear under her skirt. Surely he wasn't going to try to touch her at 80 miles an hour on a public highway.

With a satisfied smirk, John rubbed his palm over her panties, relishing the feeling of her wet heat just below the silky fabric. "I'm distracting you," he whispered, allowing one finger to slide inside her underwear.

Batting at his arm, she started to argue. "You can't just," she stopped cold as he slipped a digit inside of her. "Oh, shit," she gasped, throwing her head back against the leather seat. Between his finger inside her and the rushing breeze blowing over her, Olivia knew she wouldn't last long.

"Yeah?" John asked, as though she had just told him the most amazing story. "You like that, baby?"

She moved her legs, placing one on either side of the gear shift, and then grabbed his wrist with both hands. Licking her lips, she moaned and then grunted as he slid another finger into her wetness. "Shit," she sighed, using all of her might to guide his hand at a pace that suited her.

Maybe it wasn't the smartest plan, John realized, as her pleasure-filled groans and moans filled the car. He wasn't really doing much for his own hardened state by fingering her, but the look on her face was enough to convince him to press on. "Come on, Liv," he leaned over, keeping his eyes on the road as he kissed her cheek. "Come for me," he encouraged.

She shook her head and bit her lip. She didn't want to – not yet. She wanted this feeling to last forever, just like every time she was with him. Not knowing when she would ever experience anyone like John again, she clung desperately to every moment they had together, praying that it would be better than the last. And every time, her prayers were answered.

The way she bit her lip and moaned into his shoulder was driving him crazy. Her fingernails dug into the soft flesh of his wrists as she fought like hell to drive his hand deeper inside her tightening core. Clinging to his last shred of coherence, John guided the car off the highway and into the parking lot of a tiny gas station. "Bathroom," he gasped.

Olivia followed closely behind him as the pair ran past the clerk, down an aisle of junk food, and into the unisex bathroom at the back of the store. John locked the door and dropped a couple of quarters into the vending machine on the wall. Olivia pulled her skirt up to her waist and fumbled with his belt. By the time he had opened the generic, glow-in-the-dark condom, she was leaning against the wall and panting for him to hurry up and fuck her.

In less than five seconds, he was protected and buried deep inside her. With her legs tightly wrapped around his waist, she allowed him to support her in his arms as he lifted her up and down on his stiff erection. Groaning and gasping, she licked his ear and bit his shoulder, knowing that she wasn't going to last nearly as long as she wanted to with him.

He nearly dropped her as he emptied himself into the condom, but steadied himself just enough to gently support her until she returned her feet to the floor. Last night had been romantic and passionate. The bathroom rendezvous was hurried, primal, and desperate. And he decided, as he cast a smile at her sated expression, that he had passed the point of no return. He was in love with Olivia Stewart, and there was no way he was letting her walk away in three weeks.


	13. That's My Boy

**Stripped**

**A/N: I'm so glad you guys didn't forget about Olivia. So, this chapter's a shorty. Hope that's okay. I promise, the real meat is in the next chapter. Enjoy!

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"There he is," Olivia smiled, gripping John's hand tightly while wrapping her free hand around his bicep. She nodded toward a group of adolescent boys in baggy jeans and tee shirts, chilling on the bike path a few hundred yards from the ticket booth they had just visited.

He was still decked head to toe in black, but his shoulder length hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and there was a broad grin on his face. The overwhelming insecurity and sadness were gone from his demeanor as he straddled his bike and leaned comfortably on the seat, his arms resting lazily over the handle bars.

A plethora of emotions swept over Olivia as Brandon turned, squinted into the sun, and lifted a hand in recognition toward her. "Come on," she pulled on John's arm and headed toward the fence. Any nerves she had experienced faded in the instant she glanced at her angel's face.

He rode to the fence and nudged his kick stand to the ground, before shoving his hands deep into his pockets. Though she wanted to throw her arms around the boy and never let go again, she was well aware of how humiliating it would be for an eleven-year-old boy to be embraced by his mother in public. Even if his mother was a WWE diva. "Hey, Kiddo," she smiled, and tried to keep her voice even.

Brandon smiled a true, genuine grin and leaned on the fence. "You came," he said, as though he was somewhat surprised. Turning to John, he offered a small wave. "Hey," he greeted.

John extended a hand and then cleared his throat. "I've heard a lot about ya, man. It's pretty much all your mom talks about."

Though he said nothing in response to the comment, Olivia watched as a slight blush crept into her son's cheeks and a proud smile cracked his "I'm so cool" expression. As John and Brandon talked bike mechanics like they'd know each other for years, a foreign feeling settled over her, resting softly in her chest. This was the life she had always wanted, even before she knew she wanted it. She had dreamt of this life – where the man she loved was by her side, and her kids (or kid, at the moment) were happy and well-adjusted.

"Hey, B," some kid in camouflage pants and a Chain Gang tee shirt called out. Brandon turned and nodded, motioning for the kid to come over. "Dude, it's really you," he said to John in awe and disbelief.

Olivia smiled as Brandon leaned closer to her and watched her boyfriend interact with his fan. "It always like this with you guys?" he asked.

They would have no long, weepy "I've missed you so much" greeting – she knew that. But the fact that he was touching her arm, and smiling at her like the kid she used to know, was more than enough for Olivia. With a nod, she rolled her eyes. "You would think he's the champion or something."

As a young man in baggy clothes took a microphone and announced that the race would soon be starting, John promised Brandon and his friends pizza after the race and then allowed Olivia to lead him to the stands. Just knowing that her greatest fears had been discounted with one beaming smile from that kid was enough to make John's day even better than it had been to that point. For the first time in his life, the thought of having a family didn't scare him. In fact, as he watched Olivia watching Brandon, he almost welcomed the thought.

Settling back against his arm, Olivia smiled. She had spent most of her life believing that good things would never really happen to her. Brandon was a blessing, to be sure, but for a while it had seemed like she had even managed to fuck that up, too. Now, she was starting to think maybe there was a happily-ever-after in her future after all.

And then the proverbial, and literal, shadow fell over her joy parade. Craning her head, she cringed and gritted her teeth. He smiled at her sarcastically. "Hello, Jack."


	14. The Truth about Olivia

**Stripped**

_A/N: Sorry I left y'all with such a short chapter last time - I hope this kind of makes up for it. If all goes according to plan, you should have more updates in the next week or so. For those of you who have been paying attention from the beginning, there's an accidental pun in this chapter - see if you can find it. If not, no biggie - it's probably not nearly as amusing as I seem to think it is. Anyway, you know I don't own John. The others are my creations, in case you were thinking about stealing them and doing a spin-off or something. In which case, just ask me, cause damn, that would be flattering. Anyway - as always - Enjoy!

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It wasn't that Jack was an asshole on purpose. A part of him had truly loved Olivia, and he knew that as long as they shared a child, that part would always throb with a dull ache in her absence. He loved Brandon, and spending time with the boy over the last couple of months had reminded him of the life that they should have all been sharing together – the life that he had always wanted for himself, for the first woman he had ever loved, and for their son.

He was married now, with a new baby on the way, and he had come to terms with the fact that he and Olivia would have never worked. But seeing her with someone else still made his jealousy flare slightly. Sure, this John guy seemed cool enough. But he was a performer, much like Olivia, and in Jack's mind, that could never work. Neither of them was stable enough, or grounded enough, to stick around when things got real.

For her part, Olivia found the smiling, easy-going Jack to be unnerving and downright unsettling. He was talking to John like they had been best friends for years, smiling and laughing as they shared memories about the old days of wrestling. It wasn't that she minded her current boyfriend getting along with her former one. Especially since the former one was the father of her child, and would undoubtedly be in her life for the next six or seven years, at least.

But Jack didn't smile – unless it was sarcastic or smug. He didn't laugh – unless it was a sardonic, bitter chuckle. This man, the one being charming, and talking about how proud he was of the boy in the lead of the race, was not the man she had run from years before. And she didn't know if she was glad, or royally pissed off.

Her ringing cell phone drew her attention from the action on the track, and Olivia cast a glance at the ID screen. Turning to John, she smiled. "It's Trish," she whispered.

John only nodded as she kissed his cheek and stood to take the call away from the noisy cheers of the crowd. "So you and Olivia are dating now, huh?" Jack asked when she was out of ear shot.

With another easy nod, John looked at her, and then to Brandon. It wasn't that he minded talking to this guy or anything, but he didn't really do well with strangers. He could act all laid back and semi-interested, but inside, he was just wishing she would come back and save him.

"How long you been together?" Jack asked.

John knew that the truth sounded lame. _Well, I fucked her last night_, was probably not the right thing to say to the father of her son. Instead, he shrugged, and pretended to consider the question. "About a month," he lied.

With a nod, Jack settled back on his seat and crossed his hands over his stomach. She would be pissed at what he was about to do, but he didn't care. She was always pissed at him anyway. And John seemed to be a nice guy, so he had every right to know what he was in for. If that also happened to result in Olivia staying single for a little while longer, so much the better.

"Ah," Jack nodded knowingly. "So you've got another couple before she bolts," he predicted.

John could feel his shoulders stiffening. He knew that Olivia had little to say about Jack that was remotely good. He had never expected to be sitting here, listening to the man shovel dirt about his girlfriend. "Dude, I don't know everything that happened with you guys," he started

But Jack held up a hand as if to say "relax." He gave an easy nod in Brandon's general direction as another heat of races started. "I'm just gonna give you some unsolicited advice, okay?" When John didn't respond, Jack went on. "Olivia is like a bunny. She's cute as a button, but she's scared as fuck. It doesn't take anything to scare her away – and she never faces her fears. She runs so fast, you won't even notice she's gone, or have any idea why, until it's too late to get her back."

There was a current of bitterness just under his comments, but John decided not to address that issue at the moment. "She's got no reason to be scared of me," he insisted, wishing the guy beside him would just magically disappear.

The laugh that Jack allowed to escape was nothing short of mocking. "Are you kidding? Olivia doesn't need a reason to run, John. In fact, it's more alluring to her if there isn't a reason at all." Without another thought, he launched into the story that he had been dying to tell someone since the day she had left him, the one that would make her hurt as much as he did the day he realized she was gone.

"I bet she's told you all about how she didn't have any choice but to do whatever she could to take care of Brandon, hasn't she? About how she's a stripper because there was no other way to give him the life she never had?" John nodded, which only cause Jack to scoff and shake his head. "Of course she did. Revisionist history, man," he sighed.

Without a word, John stood, running his hands over the denim shorts on his legs. Afraid that if he stayed there, he would punch Jack in the nose, he thought it best to go after Olivia, to stand quietly by while she talked to Trish. Or to find a bathroom. Or to sign some autographs. Anything to get away from whatever this guy was about to tell him.

"She could have been anything," Jack said, a touch of admiration and awe in his voice. "She's a freakin' genius. Dropped out of school two months shy of graduating valedictorian of her class. She was sixteen."

Though he wanted to ignore anything this yahoo told him about Olivia, his words had a power over John and he found himself sinking back to his seat, seemingly against his own will. With an incredulous look, he turned to Jack. "Why would she do that?"

Jack shrugged. "Don't ask me, man. I don't know. She bolted before I got a chance to ask her. Jumped on a bus and I didn't see her again for almost four years."

Though he didn't want to believe it, the wheels in John's head were turning. If he was honest, he barely knew Olivia. But he liked to think that, if Jack was telling the truth, she must have had a reason for it. "Is that so?" he asked, mostly because Jack was waiting for something, and his mind was reeling.

With a nod, Jack folded his hands over his stomach and leaned back on the bleachers, resting his neck against the seat behind him. "She had offers on the table from Michigan, Northwestern, Columbia, and Stanford. Scholarships and grants would have made it a free ride, pretty much anywhere she wanted to go. Could have been anything she wanted to be," he explained. "She spent her whole life dedicated to the one thing she knew would be her ticket out of the D – her brain. Her looks were on point, but she knew that it took too much dumb luck to be successful on those alone. So she worked her ass off – skipped two grades in high school, and was ready to graduate with honors and leave that town behind forever."

Something clicked in John's brain. "And you." Jack nodded. "But you wanted her to get an abortion – you gave her money to take care of it," he stated, as Olivia had confided it to him.

There was another sardonic chuckle from Jack. "Why would I want that? After all the trouble I went to in making sure she got pregnant? I switched out her birth control, poked holes in my condoms – I knew a baby was the only thing that was gonna keep her ass with me."

John's eyes grew wider, a tiny tinge of crimson crawling up his neck and into his cheeks. "You selfish son of a bitch," he growled.

And Jack couldn't argue. It was selfish. Everything he had done back then was selfish, but he had truly believed that they could be the family neither of them had growing up. "I asked her to marry me, she said no. I offered her money to stay – begged her not to take my son away – but she wouldn't hear it. Had no trouble takin' the cash, though. She was gone the next day, without a good bye or anything."

Maybe it was the beginning stages of puppy love, or maybe it was still the euphoria from the bathroom a few hours earlier, but John couldn't see how this story made anyone but Jack look like an asshole. If he was trying to turn John against his new lady love, he was failing miserably. "Dude, look," he said finally, bored and more than a little irritated. "I don't know why she ran from you or whatever, but I know that Olivia is an amazing woman who has sacrificed a lot to make sure her son has a good life. If you're jealous of her new fame or whatever," he started

Sitting upright, Jack held out a hand and shook his head vehemently. "I have no interest in that shit at all. I mean, I like to watch it on television. But jealous? Not a chance in hell. Olivia's the one that gets off on selling her body. She's the slut, not me," he insisted, not even realizing that the words had slipped until they were past his lips.

John clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, his voice hissing from low in his throat. "You wanna say that again?"

Jack backed up a little, but had no time to respond as a soft voice cleared over his shoulder. Tilting his head back, he looked into Olivia's hurt eyes. He had always assumed that ruining her first love since him would cause some sort of elation, or victory. Instead, he found a guilty ache in his chest.

With a shrug, she looked at John. "He doesn't have to say it again," she whispered. "You heard it the first time, and it's true. Everything he said is true," she cast her eyes to the bike trail, where the riders were gathering their gear and heading out to the jubilant, or consoling, hugs from parents and friends. "Brandon's ready whenever you are."

With that, she turned and left John to stare in disbelief. Everything Jack had told him happened eleven years ago, so what did it matter now? And if it didn't matter, why did he feel like he didn't know the woman he was falling for at all? And why did it feel like someone had opened Pandora's box, changing everything? All he did know in that moment was that he needed answers to questions he hadn't even processed yet. And he needed them soon.


	15. Worthless

**Stripped**

_A/N: For those of you who have been waiting for an update to this story, I apologize for the delay. I know I left you hanging. The thing is, I've been trying to write it, and it just wasn't flowing. Sometimes I think it's better to just shut up and let the characters say what they want. This is not the chapter that I had in mind, but I can't imagine it any other way, now that it's finished. I know I'm babbling like a freak, so I'll stop. Thanks for the reviews - you guys have been truly awesome! You know I don't own John - Olivia, Brandon, Melinda, and Jack are figments of my own imagination, though. Enjoy!

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"Thanks for coming, Mom," Brandon's voice was hushed, as if trying to hide his affection for his mother from the rest of his friends, who had already tumbled out of the car in front of Jack's house.

Turning in her seat, Olivia shot a sweet smile at the only boy she could truly say she had ever loved with her whole heart. "You know I wouldn't have missed it for the world, Kid," she reached out and put a hand on his.

With a soft smile, he turned his head, just before the mood got too heavy. Offering his hand to John, the two men shared a manly shake and John nodded toward him. "I'll get a copy of that game for ya," John promised.

Brandon's eyes lit up again and he returned the nod. "Awesome. I'll call you in a couple days, Mom," he said brightly before jumping out of the car and running toward his friends.

In a matter of only a couple of months, her troubled pre-teen had reverted back to the smiling little boy she had missed. Melinda had been right – time with his father had been good for him, as much as Olivia hated to admit it. Or maybe it was just time away from her that had been what he needed. Maybe she was the bad influence after all.

The air in the car was filled with a suffocating tension as John maneuvered the rental back to the hotel they would be sharing for the night. Six hours ago, she had been sure that this night would be as good, if not better, than the one before. Now she would be surprised if he didn't leave her on the next flight out of Jacksonville, and her life, forever. And she knew she would have no right to ask him to stay.

They spent the entire drive to the hotel in silence. Mostly because he had no idea where to start or what to ask, John found himself waiting for Olivia to speak. Her unwillingness to let their relationship go kept her from opening her mouth. So they checked in, rode the elevator to their floor, and settled into their room without so much as a word to one another.

As John sank into the chair beside the bed and stared at the ceiling, he fought a thousand simple urges. The easy thing to do would be turn the television on and block everything else out until he drifted to sleep. Talking would be easy, too – saying something to fill the vacuum between them. The easy thing would be to brush it all under the rug and pretend he hadn't even met Jack.

But he wasn't interested in the easy thing anymore. All he wanted was to hear her out, to have her explain everything Jack had said, to assure him that she was the same beautiful, warm, wonderful woman he was falling in love with.

Finally, after fifteen minutes of deafening silence, Olivia sank to the middle of the bed. "You know how there are some guys you get into the ring with and you know you can beat them? You know you're better, that you have the ability to hand them their ass on a platter?"

The sound of her voice had startled him a bit, but John turned and watched her with a careful nod. "Sure."

"How does it make you feel when booking says you have to lose to them? When you know you could win, but the script says you have to job out?"

He sighed heavily. Something told him she was avoiding the real subject. Normally, he didn't mind her stories, her metaphors and analogies, but tonight he just wanted to hear the truth. "Olivia, can we just get to the point?"

Pulling her knees up to her chest, she hugged herself tightly and thought about how to start. "When I was growing up, all I ever wanted was to get out of that place. And I thought, for some twisted reason, that being smart was the answer. I thought that studying was going to be my ticket out.

"Until I realized that everything is scripted, the deck is always stacked. It doesn't matter how good you are, how much talent you have, how smart you are – the successful are always predetermined. Some of us are born champions," she looked at John for the first time. "And some of us are just born jobbers. It took me getting pregnant to realize that, but I see it now.

"You can judge my decisions all you want. Question my motives for doing what I did," she sighed and relaxed her legs, running her fingers through her hair.

And that's when John scooted forward in his seat and turned his head to consider her. "Stop it." She looked surprised. "I don't care why you took the money and ran eleven years ago. I don't care why you dropped out of high school, and I don't care why you didn't marry Jack." He made no attempt to move any closer to her, but gave her an intense look from the edge of his chair. "I wanna know why you dance."

"Because I have a son to take care of," she spewed the line that she had become so accustomed to spitting over the last decade.

But John wasn't buying it anymore. With a sad shake of his head, he sank back in his chair. "Brandon's not the reason, Olivia. There are plenty of jobs for a woman with your brain – jobs that pay as much, or more, than the one you have now. And ones that won't embarrass your kid," he whispered, afraid that she would unleash on him.

As much as Olivia wanted to scream, she knew John was right. She knew that he was only stating the obvious. She had known it since the first time Brandon had gotten suspended from school. He had punched a kid who told a group of boys on the playground that his dad had seen Brandon's mom naked, that lots of guys saw her naked. The young boy was starting to realize the differences between boys and girls, and fully grasping what his mother did for a living was more than the ten-year-old could wrap his naive mind around.

Of course, knowing it hadn't stopped her. She justified and excused her line of work. She kicked against anyone who said it was immoral or unethical. It became her personal crusade. Debating with Christian protesters outside the club made her feel like the political strategist she had always dreamed of being. Sometimes, when she was stating her case to a man with a picket sign, she could almost imagine herself testifying before Congress, or presenting an issue to the Supreme Court.

John watched as a plethora of emotions clouded Olivia's perfect face. There was something deeper than anything she was willing to tell him, but he felt like he had to push, that if he didn't, he would never know her. "It's okay if you like the attention," he stated.

Looking up, Olivia's shocked eyes began to fill with tears. "It's not that," she started, but then stopped. Something in his crystal gaze said that it was time to stop lying, running, and hiding. It was time to tell someone the truth – to let someone in.

But it wouldn't be easy. "I thought you didn't mind me dancing," she chuckled glibly.

Sliding off of his chair, John sat next to her on the bed. "I don't mind. I just wanna know if you do it because you want to, or because you have to." She raised an eyebrow. "If you do it because it's your choice, then I have no problem with it, Liv. But if you feel like you have to, like you need it for validation, I don't know if I can take a back seat to your addiction."

She sighed and looked him over skeptically. "The first time he said it, I didn't think anything about it. I mean, daddies are supposed to tell their little girls that they're pretty, right?" Her gaze caught him off-guard. She looked so young, so vulnerable. "After awhile, it was nothing for him to pat my ass when I walked by, or to put a hand on my chest when he was telling me to clean my room."

When the weight of her words sunk in, John felt his anger rising. Her father had molested her! Son of a bitch! Suddenly, it didn't matter why she did anything she did. All that mattered was finding him and killing the perverted bastard. "Olivia," he started.

But she grabbed his wrist and shook her head. "He never did anything, John," she assured her angry boyfriend. "He made advances, I shot them down. Eventually, he just started telling me that no one was ever gonna want me for anything more than my body anyway, so I should just get used to giving it up.

"He never actually did it, but he used to threaten to rape me in my sleep. Said that I needed to learn how to please a man, because none of them were ever gonna care if I got an A on a Science test. They just wanted to know what my pussy tasted like and how my ass looked while they were fucking me from behind.

"My mom used to laugh when he said shit like that. I used to sit in my room and think about how great it would be if she would stand up to him – tell him to treat me with some respect. When I got over that fairy-tale thought, I just started to think nobody would ever love me, that I would just have to get used to taking shit." She stopped talking and pushed her hair out of her face again, a nagging voice telling her to stop boring him with her sob-story.

John didn't know how to respond. He wasn't entirely sure where she was going with this, how it applied to her current life, but Olivia had a way of bringing it back around in the end. So he just squeezed her hand and encouraged her go on. "Jack loved you," he started.

But she scoffed and shook her head. "Jack didn't know what love was any more than I did. I didn't even know his name until after we had fucked in a closet at a party. My first time was in fucking closet with a guy I had never met," her face twisted for a moment and then her expression hardened.

It was as if John could see the wall visibly erecting around her emotions, and he refused to take a leap back after the baby step they were making toward progress. "So what happened then?" he asked finally.

She shrugged and picked at something on the bed spread. "I don't know. I got confused. I thought he loved me – he said he did – he sure as hell loved seeing me naked." With a disgusted grunt, she shook her head. "When I left him, I planned on going back to school and doing something with myself. I planned on turning it around, on being good for me, and for Brandon.

"I worked at a grocery store for two months after he was born, and it didn't come close to paying our bills. He was always crying, always hungry cause I couldn't afford food, and he was starting to get sick a lot." Thoughts of her baby squirming in pain and starvation choked her up again. "I didn't know what to do – I mean, I was in Atlanta, Georgia, I didn't know anybody, and I was sixteen years old.

"Melinda came in the grocery store a lot back then, and she used to tell me I had a face that men could love, and a body they would pay for." Sighing, Olivia finally looked into John's eyes, expecting judgmental confusion. Instead, she found an understanding compassion that broke her exterior once more.

"But you were only sixteen," he stated. It was an obvious statement, and probably the furthest thing from something intelligent could have said. He just wasn't sure his heart had ever felt so heavy for someone. Sure, his family had seen their share of money problems over the years. But suddenly, his temper tantrums over sale-priced Nike's seemed like the most ridiculous thing in the world.

Collecting herself again, she stood from the bed and began pacing the front of the room. "Every day that Melinda would come in, she would tell me how much money I could bring at the club – about how much men would want me. She thought I was eighteen, I told her I was." She smiled slightly. "And then I would come home, and Brandon would scream until he had no voice left. I felt guilty for being a horrible mother, and for wishing that I had someone to help take all this burden away."

He was watching her pace, marveling at how she had morphed into a vulnerable sixteen-year-old right before his eyes once again. She was rubbing her shoulders, biting back tears, and shaking. But when she turned her emerald orbs to him and released a biting laugh, it turned his blood cold.

"Guess when I prayed that I would be worth something to someone someday, I should have been more specific, huh?"

There were a million cheesy things he could have said to her in that moment. For what seemed like an eternity, he processed her words and debated which corny line to throw out. She said all she wanted was to get out of her old life, to escape the town she had grown up in, and somehow escape the life that had been handed to her there.

But in the end, John realized, all she wanted was to feel like she meant something. She wanted to feel important, like she was worth something. All she really wanted was the same thing every person on Planet Earth wanted – to be loved unconditionally.

Olivia was pondering how long it would take her to get from the hotel to the airport on foot when she felt two huge hands enveloping her tiny shoulders. Looking up into John's blue eyes, she felt all the air in her body escape. And as he pulled her into his chest and kissed the top of her head, she let her tears go for the first time, allowed herself to rest safely in his embrace.

He didn't say a word that night, but the expression Olivia saw in his eyes spoke volumes. It said she was worth more than all the folded one dollar bills in the world.


	16. Complicated Decisions Made Easy

**Stripped**

**_A/N: I don't have much to say, except that this chapter is dedicated to that one special person that couldn't wait to see Trish, Randy, and Adam again. You know who you are! I don't own 'em, but feel free to enjoy!

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"I don't see the problem," Trish stated simply, her face twisted in sincere confusion.

Olivia sank to the practice mat below her and shrugged her thin shoulders. "It's just so complicated now," she sighed, leaning back until her head rested on the ropes behind her.

Trish hopped onto the turnbuckle and gathered her hair into a thick ponytail. Though she loved Randy to death, and Adam was tolerable enough, the Canadian diva had missed having Olivia around to balance the testosterone. At one time, Trish had found Stacy the easiest of confidantes, the best friend she had amongst the divas. But something had shifted and those days had passed.

Certain that Olivia's weekend away with John would cement her commitment to the company, Trish had set into motion a plan to begin training her friend as soon as the couple returned to the road. Sensing that Olivia was not the kind of woman that would be content to valet forever, the older of the divas had convinced management that she could teach the rookie some basics without cutting into her own training regiment.

"Sweetie," Trish's soft voice lilted through the old boxing gym. "Things are good with you and John, yes?" Olivia nodded. "And the kid is happy with his dad? Well-adjusted? In a good place?" Again, Olivia's dark hair swished around her shoulders. "Yeah, I wish my complicated decisions were that easy to make," she huffed.

Olivia rolled her green eyes. "Like you have hard decisions to make," she laughed. Trish feigned offense. "What? Which thong makes Randy harder? Is that your tough decision?"

"No," a deep voice answered as Randy entered from the locker room area. "That's easy. All thongs make Randy hard," he smiled, hopping onto the apron behind Trish and placing his hands on her thighs. He rested his chin on her shoulder and kissed the soft skin of her neck.

"Randy," she giggled, wiggling slightly out of his grasp. "There are other people here," she reminded him.

Rolling his eyes, the young man pulled back slightly, but kept his hands firmly affixed to her bare legs. Leaning forward, he rested his chest against her back and looked to the other side of the ring. "Those aren't people," he nodded to where John was offering Olivia a drink from a plastic water bottle. "That's just John and Olivia," he said.

John laughed and leaned his shoulder against Olivia's as he addressed his friend. "Gee, thanks," he said.

But if there was one emotion Randy Orton didn't feel, it was guilt. "Relax," he commanded. "It's like you're only people until I've seen ya naked and shit. Then you're just family." Slowly, it dawned on his companions that everyone in the room fell under that blanket. Randy smiled as the proverbial light bulbs went on over their heads. "See?"

"Then you've got a HUGE family, huh?" Trish asked, winking at the couple seated below her. "All those guys in the locker room, not to mention the strippers and the groupies," she went on to tease Randy.

Scooting forward slightly, Olivia nudged John's leg and slid back against his body, resting her hands on his knees. With his hands around her waist, she leaned back and rested her head on his shoulder, vaguely listening to her friends' conversation.

Trish was right, and Olivia knew it. There was no reason this decision should be complicated for her. She and John were in a great place. She had never felt about anyone the way she felt about him. There was something inherently sensual, but also incredibly innocent, about their relationship. When he held her, even loosely in a sweaty old boxing ring, she knew she was safe. The meaning of "at home in his arms" made sense to her when John's chest was pressed against her back and his hands were on her waist.

And Trish was right about Brandon, too. He was doing so much better than she had hoped, morphing back into the kid she knew he could be. Living with his father had provided him with a stability that she just couldn't give him. It was putting the kid's feet back on the ground, giving him a place to feel safe, too.

The only complication was that, while she loved being with John, she wanted Brandon to be her security. And while she was thrilled that Brandon was thriving in his father's house, she wanted to be the one that gave him a foundation. For ten years, they were dependent only on each other - and now other people were encroaching on their territory. In a matter of weeks, these men - Jack and John - had filled a void that neither Stewart had known was empty.

For too long, she had only known a life as Brandon's mom. And even when she felt like a failure at everything else, she could at least rest with the confidence that she knew how to be a mother. She might not have always been the best mom in the world, but she knew how to take care of her son. She knew how to make sure he had the clothing, food, and shelter he needed. She knew how to tuck him in at night and how to wake him up in the morning. She knew which cough was okay, and which needed a doctor's attention.

"All I am saying," Randy's deep voice interrupted her thoughts, "is that the world is a cold, ugly, painful place," he stated sincerely. "And I don't think it's fair to deprive this desolate land of the healing beauty that is - OUCH!" His hand went to the back of his head as he turned pained eyes to Trish. "Damn, woman!"

The blonde shot her boyfriend a look that said his idiocy was giving her a headache. "Baby, stop talking." She ran her hand along his cheek and gave him a sweet smile.

Randy frowned slightly, rubbing the back of his head once more. "It was a compliment," he insisted.

John just laughed at his friend as Olivia laid her head on his shoulder. "It's not like I told her she couldn't dance anymore, man," he reminded. "I just said that I would support her if she chose not to."

Grunting as she stood from the mat, Olivia held a hand out to John. "And right now, she chooses to do nothing but go home and take a hot bath." When John stood, she gave him her saddest eyes and let her bottom lip pout out slightly. "I hurt," she whispered.

"Awe," John cooed, dropping a gentle kiss on her lips. "Let's get you back then," he smiled, weaving his fingers through hers.

He wasn't sure he had stopped smiling since that night in her hotel room more than a week ago, but now he was sure he was grinning wide enough to break his own face in two. It was as if their night in Jacksonville had set something inside both of them free, something they hadn't even known was chained. She was more affectionate, he laughed a little louder. There was a comfort level between the couple that brought an ease to others around them. And when they were alone? Explosive.

By the time they had arrived back at the hotel, all four young adults were laughing together and planning the rest of their afternoon. John and Randy carried Olivia and Trish on their backs as they made their way through the hotel parking garage. Randy was entertaining them all with some song about laffy taffy when Trish pointed over his shoulder.

"Isn't that Adam?"

Sure enough, a disheveled Adam was climbing out of the backseat of a little Red Accord. "I thought he was too tired to hang with us today," John stated.

"Clearly, he was not too tired to fuck in the back of a very small car," Randy said, a little too loudly. His deep voice rattled through the echoing halls of the garage and Olivia leaned over to smack the back of his head before Trish could. "Dammit! I'm gettin' sick of bein' your whipping boy," he turned a harsh glare at both woman.

Trish just put her hand over his mouth. "Would you shut up?" She pointed again to where Adam was holding the door open. Without saying a word, they waited to see who got out of that car. More than likely it would be someone they didn't know – Adam was always with some random groupie.

"FUCK ME!" It was Olivia's voice that bounced off the hollow walls around them, and finally drew the attention of the covert couple, now standing like two deer in bright headlights about a hundred yards from them.

Adam smiled, ran a hand through his hair, and offered a wave to his friends. Stacy looked like she might throw up.


	17. Just About Enough

**Stripped**

**A/N: I don't really think I say this enough, so just let me start by saying THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who takes the time to review this story. Especially to those of you who review after every chapter - you have no idea how much it makes me smile to open my inbox and read exactly what you think of these chapters, and these characters. I love you guys so much - you really are the best readers in the whole world! I know that probably sounds a little mushy comin' from me, but I was thinking today about how none of you really have to say anything - but you do, and I appreciate that more than a simple thanks can say.**

**With that being said, there are only three chapters left in this story, so I guess it's time for you start letting me know you want to see this thing end. I think I know where I'm going, but a good persuasive argument is hard to ignore. Remember that when you review this time. I don't own Stacy, Olivia is mine, and their experiences are all of ours to Enjoy!

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She stared at the ceiling, a million thoughts racing through her head. Sliding out of the bed she was sharing with John, she draped herself in his discarded football jersey before gathering her hair into a fat ponytail. She only had three days to decide what she was going to do, and every day brought a new reason for choosing a new path. Nothing was clear, and she didn't know how in the world she was supposed to bring it into focus.

Gripping a key card in her left hand, she stepped into the hotel hallway and padded toward the vending machines. It wasn't like she was going to sleep any time soon - might as well enjoy a little caffeine and sugar.

With a candy bar in one hand, and a can of soda in the other, she turned back toward the hall. She didn't want to go back to her room – she would only have to assure John that she was fine if he woke up and realized she wasn't in the bed. But she couldn't really go wandering the hotel in nothing but his shirt, either.

A door opened nearby, and Olivia groaned inwardly as Stacy stepped into the hallway. _Maybe she won't notice me,_ Olivia thought as she kept her head down and walked toward her room. Not that Stacy was quick to make conversation with her or anything, but the slightest eye contact could cause an explosive confrontation.

"You're still here," Stacy spoke flatly, as though the space between them needed to be filled with some kind of noise.

Olivia looked up and shrugged. _For now_, she thought. _Forever_, flittered through her mind next. But she really didn't feel the need to explain her indecision to Stacy, of all people. So she just said, "Uh huh."

"Great," Stacy mumbled under her breath.

And that was all it took. For nearly three months, Olivia had practiced the fine art of keeping her mouth shut and her mind open. She had listened to Stacy disrespect her, and she had let it roll off her like Teflon. But she'd had enough silence. She had taken enough shit. And she was tired of the woman standing just across the hall.

"What is your problem?" Olivia asked.

Stacy just shrugged and leaned against the wall. "How much time do you have?" she asked.

Rolling her eyes, Olivia pushed off the wall. "Not enough," she said, drinking from her soda and watching to see what the other woman would do.

Had they been fighters, one would worry that the women were about to throw down. But Stacy sucked in a breath and flipped her hair over her shoulder. "You know he's not gonna miss you when you're gone, right?"

Olivia crossed her arms over her chest. It was a childish argument, one she wasn't really interested in having, but she would. She hadn't had a good squabble in awhile, and if Stacy thought she could keep up, Olivia would let her try. "Who says I'm goin' anywhere?"

"You don't fit here. You and I both know you don't belong here, Olivia," Stacy stated simply.

Olivia shook her head. "Look, I have tried my damnedest to just stay out of your way. Because, to be honest, I know we don't really have a lot in common. I mean, I'm a dirty whore," she stated sarcastically. "And you. . . "

The taller woman's cheeks flushed. She knew exactly what Olivia was getting at. "I never claimed to be a saint," was the only defense that the blonde offered.

"Oh please," Olivia rolled her eyes. "You prance around on your high horse, like the queen of morality. And anyone who doesn't bow to your every whim and opinion? Off with their heads!" Her shoulders relaxed as she began to let Stacy know exactly what she had been thinking for weeks now. "Look, Stacy, I don't really care about you one way or the other. But up until a few days ago, I at least respected you."

The look on Stacy's face said Olivia didn't need to tell her what had changed. But she held up her hand. "I don't want anything from you, Olivia. What does the respect of a stripper mean to me?" With a deep breath, she stood to her full height and squared her shoulders. "This job was practically thrown at you." Her voice climbed and cracked. "Everybody loves Olivia – she's so pretty, she's so funny, she's so sweet," she mocked.

Olivia watched as Stacy narrowed her eyes. "Cut the bull shit, Stacy. We both know this is about John." She was starting to feel like she was back in Atlanta, arguing with Brandon over why he hadn't done his homework. And she had a very low tolerance for childish debates.

Feeling there was no reason to hold back, Stacy nodded. "We were happy. He was the greatest thing that had ever happened to me. Yeah, we had our problems, but we could have worked through them." With a look that minced no words, Stacy leveled Olivia. "Until you came along."

For a long moment, neither woman said anything. Until Olivia raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "And?"

"What do you mean 'And"?" Stacy asked, taking a small step forward.

It was all Olivia could do not to roll her eyes again. "And what do you want me to say?" She sighed. "I'm not gonna tell you I'm sorry that John and I are together," she never turned her eyes from the woman before her. "Stacy, you and I are not friends. Even if you and John had still been together when we hooked up, I wouldn't owe you anything. As far as I'm concerned, my relationship with John is between myself and John. It has nothing to do with you." With a slight smirk, she added, "Maybe you should just worry about your new boyfriend."

Though she didn't appreciate the comment, Stacy refused to crack before Olivia did. The calm, even, unwavering tone in Olivia's voice was ten times worse than the accusations she was flinging around. "Adam is a nice guy."

"Never said he wasn't. I adore Adam, quite frankly. But didn't you break up with John because he went to a couple strip clubs? And that is against your beliefs?" Olivia reached her breaking point in that moment, not caring if Stacy was hurt by her words or not. All she was interested in was being heard. "Because, sweetheart, Adam's a good man, but he is the antithesis of everything you claim to believe."

Stacy was seething now, the crimson in her cheeks climbing with each word Olivia spoke. "All guys are not as driven by sex as you seem to think, Olivia. I mean, yeah, Adam puts on a show for his friends, but he's a deep guy. He's poetic."

She hadn't meant to laugh, but Olivia couldn't contain the giggle that poured over her lips. "I'm sorry," she shook her head. Clearing her throat, she put on her serious face again. "Stacy, I know you don't actually believe that Adam Copeland is with you because he respects your ethics." Stacy's look said she thought just that. "He didn't accidentally stumble into the backseat of your car. If there was a handbook on how to get laid on a first date, poetry would be the first chapter.

"Don't get me wrong. Adam's a hell of a lot of fun. Honestly, I couldn't imagine my time here without him making me laugh until my stomach hurts. But he'll be the first one to tell you that he's far more interested in what's between your legs than what's between your ears," she stated as though explaining the concept to a child.

Taking another step forward, Stacy put her hands on her thin hips. "You arrogant bitch," she whispered angrily. "You really think you're the shit, don't you? You can't even fathom the concept of a man wanting someone real. You really believe that all men would take collagen and silicone over a natural woman."

Olivia chuckled again. "Stacy, you can call me fake all you want, but you're the fraud."

Feeling as though she had made her argument, Olivia felt a sudden urge to return to her room. She was moving that direction when she heard Stacy's venomous voice behind her. "No wonder your son's so fucked up."

Without a moment's hesitation, Olivia responded. "I don't really say much, Stacy. I tend to mind my own business most of the time." She swept her eyes over the woman in front of her, from her smug grin, to her little skirt and top, to the boots that only made her legs look that much taller. All traces of laughter and smiles drained from Olivia's face. "But if you EVER so much as breathe another word about my son, you will be shitting those stilettos for a month." She took satisfaction in the fear on Stacy's face.

And, as if Stacy had unleashed the hounds of hell, Olivia decided to twist the dagger in the heart of her opponent. There wasn't much of a purpose for going on, but Olivia didn't care anymore. This woman had caused her enough grief, and she was ready to nail the coffin shut.

With a sly smile, she nodded. "I mean it. I will chew you up and spit you out, and I won't feel the slightest twinge of guilt because of it. You think I'm a bitch, Stacy, but inside? It's killin' you that I'm gonna go in there and fuck the man who used to fuck you. And then I'm gonna get up in the morning, and I'm gonna ride to the next city with the people you used to call friends. Tomorrow night, I'll bask in the glow of television lights that used to shine on you.

"Don't think for a second that I don't realize how jealous you are of that." Her lip turned up in a sadistic grin and she gave Stacy an undeniable look. Without words, she told her opponent that she wouldn't hesitate to exploit that jealousy, to make Stacy the bad guy. "Are we clear?"

With a nod, Stacy started to back away slightly. "Crystal," she groaned through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowing again. "Let's talk again sometime, Olivia," she smirked slightly, as if trying to regain the upper hand. "It's been a pleasure."

Olivia walked back to her room, shook her head, and turned to see Stacy unlocking her own door. "Stacy?" The blonde looked up, her eyes hard and angry. "Try to remember that the size of my brain is not inversely proportionate to the size of my bra," she grinned to herself as the other woman's expression went from seething hatred to utter confusion. "If you ever wanna step to me again? Come prepared, that's all I'm sayin'. Cause me cuttin' you down and you having no real defense for that?" She rolled her eyes, "It was kinda boring."

She slid back into John's bed and felt his arm wrap around her subconsciously. It had been a long time since someone had challenged the real Olivia, the one who had once wanted to be a trial lawyer, or a Supreme Court justice. And though the words would never come out of her mouth, Olivia slipped into a peaceful sleep thanking Stacy for bringing that woman back to life.


	18. Take This Job and Shove It

**Stripped**

**A/N: I don't own Vince. And, after this chapter, it should be pretty clear that NOBODY owns Olivia. Enjoy!

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When she was in high school, Olivia had been the perfect student. Until Brandon started having his problems, she had never even seen the inside of a principal's office. But, if she had been a trouble-maker, she imagined it would have felt much like being called into a meeting with Vince McMahon.

How word of her little confrontation with Stacy had spread all the way to the Chairman, she didn't know. But she was well-aware of the hushed whispers and stares that she received around the company, and she had no doubt that Stacy had, somehow, managed to tell everyone what a bitch Olivia really was.

"Olivia," Vince smiled warmly as he held the door open and allowed her to enter the office. He watched her carefully as she moved into the room and lowered herself gracefully into one of the soft leather vistor's chairs. "Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice."

The young woman smiled and nodded graciously. It wasn't as though she had a choice, and they both knew it. "Mr. McMahon, I know that there have been," she started.

But the older man just shook his head and held up a hand. "Call me Vince, Olivia," he smiled and she returned the gesture, nodding as he leaned against the front of his desk and pulled a folder off the hard wood surface. After perusing it for a moment, he smiled at her. "You have been employed with World Wrestling Entertainment for ninety days."

She nodded. It was, indeed, D-Day. After today, she was free to walk away from the company. She was free to walk away from John. From Trish, Randy, and Adam. She was free to be Brandon's mom again. But if she did that, she had to go back to Pandora's, and she wasn't sure she was ready for that, either.

Without waiting for her to speak, Vince cleared his throat and moved to the other side of the desk, sitting in his enormous leather chair and folding his hands over his stomach. "Olivia, I'm not going to mince words. We are extremely impressed with your work here. You are a beautiful woman, and your charisma is drawing fans to you in droves. Research shows that you are one of the most popular divas we've brought on board for awhile, and the trainers tell me that you're coming along nicely with your in-ring work.

"On the surface, I have no reason to terminate your employment at this time," he stated. Noting the look of hesitation on her face, he smiled and went on. "Now, there are some rumors floating around about a disagreement between yourself and Stacy Keibler."

With a slight nod, Olivia confirmed the rumors. She wasn't about to deny them - she wasn't ashamed of anything she had said to Stacy, and she didn't care who knew she had said them. "We're not best friends," she admitted.

Snapping his fingers, Vince pointed at her. "And that's what is going to take you to the next level in this company, Olivia," he laughed. "We're going to bring your feud with Stacy to the ring. Television audiences love drama that feels real. We pit you two against each other, culminating with a battle at," he looked at the calendar in front of him and then back at the woman before him, "Unforgiven."

There were a million thoughts racing through her mind, and Olivia wasn't sure where to begin. So she went with her instincts. "No," she said, shaking her head.

Vince looked as though she were speaking a foreign language. "No?" She was the only woman he had ever known to tell him "no" twice. Of course, she had taken the first one back. And he was fairly confident he could get her to rescind this decision as well. "Olivia, this is not really up for discussion."

She sat up a little straighter and gave Vince a look that said she was not intimidated by him. "I don't need this job, Vince. I have one waiting for me at home," she stated simply.

"Olivia, you hated that job back when I offered you this one. What did you tell me?" He stopped, as though thinking it over. "That you wanted to cling to whatever shred of dignity you had left? I think we've provided a more than adequately dignified atmosphere for you here."

Fighting the urge to laugh in his face, she crossed her arms. "And I'm sure you'll have Stacy and I duking out our differences in turtlenecks and librarian jumpers."

A small smile curled the end of his lips. He had not begun to lay his cards on the table, and if this woman though she could go toe-to-toe with the man who had put entire promotions out of business? Well, he certainly wasn't going to stop her from trying. "My sources tell me that you gave Stacy quite the tongue-thrashing the other night, Olivia. Are you going to sit there and tell me that you didn't feel some satisfaction in that?"

She couldn't. Not honestly, anyway. But she nodded her head anyway. "I won't deny it – I liked the look on Stacy's face after our little confrontation. And I won't even deny that the idea of kicking her ass in front of millions would be kinda gratifying," she sighed and shook her head. "But decisions made on feelings, Vince, sink empires. Allowing emotions to cloud intelligent business decisions never got anyone ahead."

He watched her with sincere consideration. She wanted to come to the bargaining table with him? _Pull up a chair, Ms. Stewart. Let me show you how the adults play the game. _"Tell me something, Olivia. Is it a completely emotionally uninvolved decision that you're making to return to the life that not only dragged you down, but also led your son to a life of drugs and delinquency at the age of ten?"

She sucked in a deep breath. "No," she said simply. "I miss my son, Vince. I miss being his mom, and I'm not ashamed to admit that to you. However," she leaned forward and placed her folded hands on his desk, "That is not why I'm refusing to bring my personal life to the ring. It's because you don't have a blind man's vision of how to make it accurate. You could not begin to make an on-screen feud mean what that argument with Stacy meant to me."

His face flitted with confusion as Vince leaned back in his chair. "How do you figure?" His voice said he was humoring her, but his expression held a genuine curiosity.

She sighed and stood, unsure for the first time. This had the ability to blow up in her face, but she didn't care anymore. At the root of it all, she just didn't care. "You brought me here to scintillate, tantalize, and entice your key demographic. Hell, that's what **I** came here to do. That's what I thought this whole career move was about – just pocketing some cash for doing the one thing I knew how to do.

"But that's not what happened, Vince," she turned and smiled at him. It wasn't a sweet smile, or even one of concession. It was the confident look of a woman who had finally discovered something that had been in front of her face for years. "I met a lot of new people here. But the other night, when I was talking to Stacy, I was re-introduced to the one woman who's been here all along – the real Olivia."

He rolled his eyes and leaned forward again, the expression on his face saying he was going to tell her all of the reasons that her confession was the most asinine thing he had ever heard. "Olivia," he started.

"I'm not done," she said, shaking her head and holding out a finger to hold him back. The pure shock-value of her actions was enough to put him back in his chair. "I've lived the last decade of my life in hiding. I used to hide when I was naked. It was easy. My life was easy, Vince. Sure, my son was fucked up and my love life was horrific, but I knew my strengths, and I played them well.

"And then I realized something. I don't wanna take the easy way out anymore. I don't wanna rely on this face, or these," she put her hands over her breasts and gave them a squeeze. "It's all fleeting. It could all be taken from me tomorrow. I could be in a horrible, disfiguring accident. I could get pregnant again and lose this body for good." A wide smile stretched across her lips, a grin of self-awareness. "And ya know what? I wouldn't shed a tear. Because it wouldn't change who I am one bit.

"I am an intelligent, strong woman with the ability to walk out that door and prove exactly who I am, who I have the potential to be. I thought it was too late for that shit, but I was wrong." She laughed slightly and shook her head. "So you can tell your writers to come up with something different for Stacy, because Olivia Stewart is no longer with the company."

Turning on her heels, she felt an overwhelming sense of pride welling up in her chest. Until Vince spoke. "That was beautiful, Olivia. Really showed a lot of backbone, standing up for yourself like that. Except for one thing."

She turned back toward him, her face blank. The slightest twinge of fear vibrated in her gut. Of course he would see a flaw in her little plan – It wasn't well-crafted by any means. Hell, half the rhetoric she had just spewed had been straight off the top of her head. But she would be damned if she was going to let Vince know that. "What's that?"

"The only prayer you have of walking out that door without a breach of contract lawsuit that will destroy you is by walking right back into the "costume" you spent so long hiding behind," he smirked. "You have to go back to Pandora's."

Olivia shrugged. "Oh, I know," she said, feigning confidence. "You'll have my formal resignation in the morning." With that, she turned and walked out the door, allowing herself to breathe only after it had shut heavily behind her.

She had meant everything she had said to Vince. She didn't want to return to Pandora's, but she had absolutely no interest in staying here. She didn't need to parade around in mini-skirts and push up bras to feel relevant anymore.

Now all she had to do was maintain the same conviction when she said good-bye to John.


	19. All I Want

**Stripped**

**A/N: Could it be? A double update? Say it ain't so! What can I say? I'm so close to the end of this story and I just can't seem to stay away from John and Olivia. This chapter and the next were supposed to go together, but I felt like they should each stand on their own. Hope you don't mind this story being one chapter longer than was originally promised! I disclaim, and I hope you Enjoy!

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Olivia sat on the bed in her hotel room, staring at the WWE Championship belt on her lap. Occasionally, she would smile as she thought about John's ring entrance.

_The crowd always cheers so loud for him_, she grinned, imagining the roar of the fans when her man walked through the curtain and spun that "W" just for them. Her fingers twirled it numbly. _They really love him. _She gave an involuntary chuckle of resignation. _Everyone loves him_.

She stopped as the next words flitted through her mind. _I love him_. It had only been three months, and she wasn't sure the love she felt was one hundred percent romantic yet. But she knew that he wasn't just her friend. And she knew that walking away from him would be harder than anyone else she had ever met, almost as hard as it had been to leave Brandon.

She watched the belt slow to a stop and noticed that her hands were trembling. She knew him well enough to know that he wasn't going to ask her not to go. He wouldn't scoff at her decision, or even ask her for an explanation. He would nod his head, say that he was behind her whatever she decided, and then hug her and tell her that she had made the right choice.

But it would be in his voice, and in his eyes. His shoulders would sag a little. The disappointment would be evident, even though he would try to hide it. He would put on the brave face, but Olivia could already see those sad baby blues in her mind's eye, and it was tearing her apart.

"DUDE, I'M NOT EVEN PLAYIN'!" John warned, laughing as he pushed the door open. The faint traces of Randy's comeback were heard as he slammed the door shut and turned, only to find a distraught-looking Olivia on the bed.

She was beautiful, even looking broken in the middle of the matress, and he found that she had, once again, taken away his ability to form a coherent thought. "You have any idea how amazing you are?" he asked without thinking.

She looked up and sniffled, wiping tears from her cheek with one hand and then pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. Turning her red-rimmed eyes to him, she sniffled again. "Oh yeah. I'm all kinds of amazing right now," she rolled her eyes and laid his belt to the side as he climbed onto the bed with her. "Amazingly weak."

He brushed her hair off her shoulder with one hand and then rested it on her bare skin, gently rubbing the strap of her tank top. "Hey now," he smiled when she met his eyes again. "What seems to be the trouble here?"

As he studied her expression, Olivia found herself losing every shred of control she thought she had been holding on to since leaving Vince's office. He was disarming her, preparing her for another heart-to-heart, and she wasn't sure she could handle the emotion. "John," she started, looking away. Where was that strong woman now? The one who had shown Vince no fear? Why was she hiding all of the sudden?

With a hand under her chin, he drew her gaze to his one once more. "Woman, look at me," he smiled. Olivia returned the grin. She was leaving him, and he knew it. Maybe she thought he had forgotten what today was, but he hadn't. It had been on the Palm Pilot in his mind for weeks now, and he had fought like hell not to ask her a million times what she was planning to do.

But now that he felt her body shaking in his arms, he knew that she had made her decision. She was going back. She was struggling with the best way to tell him good-bye, and he had no choice but to let her go. It didn't have to be drawn out and dramatic for either of them. "This is how it should be," he whispered.

Shaking her head, Olivia pushed away from him and stood, holding out a hand. "I thought so, too," she sighed and threw her arms up in the air. "Until I looked at you." She wiped another round of tears and moved to the foot of the bed, one hand in her hair, and the other one her waist. "God, I'm gonna miss you."

His heart broke in that instant. She was always doing that to him, unintentionally cracking away at little pieces of his heart, chipping away at a wall he didn't even realize he had built around his emotions. But telling her that wasn't going to help the situation. And she didn't need for him to make this harder.

"You and Brandon need each other, Liv. You're doin' the right thing," he assured her, scooting back on the bed. He rested his head against the wall and stared at the ceiling. A few weeks earlier, he had sworn he wasn't going to let her go, that he couldn't just watch her go back to that life. Now he was surrendering, and even he wasn't sure why.

She leaned against the dresser and ran her hands over her face. Giving him a weak smile, she shook her head and fought another round of tears. "It's gonna be so hard to wake up and not feel your lips on my shoulder."

John nodded and watched her take another series of short breaths. There was something, just under the surface, that was screaming at him for attention. "What are you gonna do?" he asked, as though the words were coming from somewhere else.

She wanted to ask what he meant, but the expression in his crystal gaze said even he wasn't sure. "I talked to Melinda after my meeting with Vince, and she's going to cut the check in the morning. I'll be back on stage at Pandora's Saturday night," she mumbled, walking back to the edge of the bed and sitting, her back to him.

He had been all for letting her make her own decisions. For the duration of their relationship, he had been nothing but supportive of her choices, whether he agreed with them or not. But something bubbled up inside of him at her proclamation, something he could no longer ignore. "I don't want you to," he said simply.

She cast a glance over her shoulder. "You huh?" she asked.

John watched as she stood again, her hands shoved deep in her pockets as she waited for his explanation. "I don't want you to dance again. You've taken ten steps forward, and the minute you get on that stage, you're slidin' twenty steps back. I don't wanna see that happen." He shook his head sadly and watched her reaction, but he made no attempt to move. "Not to you, baby."

She wanted to kick and scream and tell him that he couldn't tell her what to do. But the truth was, she didn't want to see it happen either. "What am I supposed to do, John?" she asked. "I make enough at Pandora's to go back to school. Melinda will work around my schedule – she'll be totally open to me finishing up my high school diploma and then working toward a degree. By the time my contract expires there, in a couple years, I'll be well on my way to being the woman I wanna be," she smiled, as though she had worked it all out.

But there was a sadness beyond the smiles. And, as much as he wished they were, John knew the tears building there weren't over the end of their relationship. She was masking the expression of a woman filled with terrifying doubt. The life she was talking about embarking upon was new – it was filled with all kinds of challenges, and it wouldn't be easy. If she was back in Atlanta, at least she had the easy to fall back on.

"I'm not lettin' you quit," he stated firmly, shrugging his shoulders a little bit.

She rolled her eyes. "Are you not listening to me?" She had just told him her plan, that she was only stripping until she could move on to something better. Why was he looking at her like she had just suggested they join a cult, move to Madagascar, and spend the rest of their lives in burlap and ashes?

"I'm listening. To what you're not saying," John corrected her. "And I'm proposing a deal of my own," he shrugged, scooting to the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, he studied his folded hands for a moment and then looked up at her. "What if I bought out your contract?"

She laughed and shook her head. "You're crazy," she rolled her eyes and placed a hand on his cheek. "Sweet, but crazy."

He wasn't kidding. And the moment he pulled her into his lap and held the back of her head with his firm hand, she knew it. "I mean it. I'm not offering as your boyfriend, or as your friend, even. I'm offering as someone who sees far too much potential in you. I'm offering as a man who sees someone capable of doing amazing things in this world someday."

"John," Olivia started, placing her thin fingers over his lips. "It's a sweet offer. And don't think I don't appreciate it, but," she started.

He kissed her fingers and then wrapped his around it, lowering their joined hands to her lap. "I would do anything to keep you with me, Olivia. To know that you're my girl, even if you're not traveling with me and sleeping in my bed all the time. I don't want you to go," he admitted.

She tried to stand again, but he pulled her back into his lap. "Baby, I can't," she started to explain that she couldn't be contracted to him – that he couldn't buy her heart like that.

"I'm not asking you to," he cut her off. Letting go of her hands, he leaned back and allowed her stand. "I'm only asking you for one thing, Olivia. I want you to do what you want to do, for once in your life. I want you to figure out what makes you happy, and I want you to do only that, for the rest of your life.

"The woman who walked into my life three months ago was pretty. She was sexy as hell, and she took away my ability to form actual words," he grinned and reached forward, tugging gently on her hand. When her fingers wrapped around his, he shook his head. "But the woman you are now is beyond beautiful. You set my body on fire, and you electrify me. You take my fuckin' breath away." She looked at the floor and blushed as John stood and pushed her hair behind her ear. "I love you."

As she stared into his eyes, studying their depths, she believed it. For the first time in her life, she believed that someone loved her – someone under no obligation to do so. With a hand on his cheek, she felt sobs bubbling up within her gut. "I wanna be with you," she whispered, resting her head against his.

John felt as though everything in his chest began to pull apart. There was an agonizing ache there as he shook his head and kissed her hard. They both knew that she needed some time. She needed space to adapt to this new life she would be embarking upon. It wasn't about what either of them wanted, but about what she needed.

For the first time in his life, he felt completely selfless. He knew he was doing the right thing. And he hated himself for it. Pulling back from the kiss, he watched her carefully. Her green eyes opened slowly, her lips swollen and her chest heaving from the intensity of their embrace. "The last thing I want is to let you walk away," he sighed.

She nodded and wrapped her arms around his waist. Burying her face in his neck, she gripped his waist. "Thank you," she whispered against his skin.

He trailed his fingers down her back and allowed himself to think, if only for a moment, that this was the last time he would touch her. At least for awhile. "You're welcome," he answered, not entirely sure of why she was thanking him in the first place. But he was fairly certain it was for more than the contract.

They merely clung to one another, no sound between them outside of sniffles and ragged breathing. And then Olivia pulled back and grinned wickedly. Pushing him back on the bed, she moved toward the clock radio on the bedside table. She moved the dial until a sultry song filled the air.

"If you're buying my contract, John," she narrowed her eyes and began to sway her hips, "I think it's only fair if you're my last audience."


	20. Eleventh Hour Proposition

**Stripped**

**A/N: Alright, so as has been the case with this story a lot, this chapter seemed to have a mind of it's own. It was not at all what I had planned, but who am I to argue with Olivia? Would you wanna piss her off? Anyway - one more chapter, Kids. I don't own shit - Enjoy!

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As John listened to the sound of the shower, he slowly stretched his body under the thick covers of the bed they had shared and then rolled to inhale Olivia's scent on the pillow beside him. His mind drifted to the previous night, and to the way she had teased and taunted him for nearly an hour.

The sway of her hips, the fluidity of her body, the hunger in her eyes – everything about her had driven him to the edge of his sanity. Urges ranging from hours of gentle love-making, to out-right primal fucking coursed through him as she performed for his eyes only. And though he was certain he had never wanted any woman as much as he wanted her, John had quietly watched, keeping his hands to himself.

That dance hadn't been for him at all . She was no longer the person he had gently uncovered in a hotel room in Spain. There were no traces of that defeated girl, the one who needed him to be her champion when she was too weak to fight on her own. She was strong enough to fight her own battles now.

His offer, her dance, the way she had ridden him to her own multiple orgasms before falling, exhausted, against his chest had all been about her the night before. It was her unspoken way of accepting his generosity while saying good-bye to her past, and showing him that she would still be okay on her own.

As Olivia stepped out of the bathroom, John realized something. Nothing about the night before felt like good-bye. It was supposed to be their big send off, but he couldn't seem to believe that she was going to be on a plane back to Atlanta by sunset. Nothing about the atmosphere in that room gave him reason to think she was going to load up her car, put her house up for sale, get Brandon from his dad's house, and start a new life for herself.

"Morning, Sweetie," she smiled, leaning over the bed to drop a light kiss on his cheek.

John groaned and stretched again, returning her grin as he attempted to pull her into his embrace. "Morning," he whispered.

She settled against him, and for a long moment, the pair shared several smiles, touches, and gentle kisses. And then Olivia stood. "Come on. Get up," she motioned with her arms for him to stand. "We're goin' to lunch with the Three Stooges."

John shook his head and stared at the ceiling, making no attempt to move. "I don't wanna," he whined. "It's your last day here, Baby," he explained. "I don't wanna share."

Olivia rolled her eyes and began to pack her suitcase. "I'm going to be reunited with whiney, eleven-year-old temper tantrums soon enough, John," she turned and pointed a brush at him. "Don't start."

With a pout, he rolled out of bed. "Fine," he sighed, parading around to her side of the bed and pulling her flush against his naked body. "But when Randy's ogling your breasts and Trish is begging you to explain how you swing around on that pole for the ten thousandth time," he kissed her head and smiled, "You just remember that you could have had an entire day in bed with me."

Olivia was laughing when she heard John start the shower. It wasn't going to be easy, leaving him. But there was something in her gut that said distance wouldn't kill them. She had never felt about another man the way she felt about him, and a little time apart wasn't going to change that. For some reason, the confidence she felt in their relationship kept her from destroying the hotel room and collapsing in a simpering heap of tears on the floor.

A knock on her door drew her attention away from her suitcase. But the man behind the door was the last she had expected to see. "Vince," she sighed, stepping back and holding the door open for him.

It didn't feel at all unlike that first night at Pandora's, when the chairman had first offered her a job with his company. "I thought you'd be long gone by now," Vince smiled, walking into the room and turning.

Olivia stood by the door, watching him. His visit could mean a million things, and she couldn't think of any that were good. "You knew I wasn't leaving until tonight," she countered, knowing full well that John had called his agent at 7:00 that morning to get the ball rolling on her contract buy-out.

He nodded in concession and then shrugged his shoulder. "I'm here to offer an eleventh hour stay of execution," he stated.

It was all she could do to cross her arms and not laugh at him. "Offer?" With a raised eyebrow, she angled her head toward him. "If anyone needs to enter a plea, Vince, it's you," she pointed out.

"Fair enough." Seemingly done arguing with her, he gave another grin. "I'm here to offer you a job, Olivia," he said.

_I've heard that before._ With a heavy sigh, she shook her head. "I don't know what was unclear the last time, Vince. But I have no interest in parading around in my underwear for ratings."

He interrupted her with an upraised hand. "It may surprise you to find out, Ms. Stewart, that the only thing I find more attractive than a nice set of tits and a tight ass, is actually a woman with a strong mind and spirit," he waited for her to smirk. She didn't disappoint. "The fact that you have the body and the brain? Well, that's a package I simply cannot allow to walk out the door."

Stepping past him, Olivia motioned toward one of the chairs across from the bed before lowering herself to the mattress. "I'm listening, Vince."


	21. I'm Ready

**Stripped**

**A/N: This is it, Kids. The conclusion to Olivia's story. To be honest, I feel kinda strange as I post this. This story had it's definite ups and downs for me, and I'm not sure I always gave it the attention it deserved. But bringing it to a close feels a little surreal. I've grown to love Olivia, and all of her crackpot side kicks, as though they were real people, and I love knowing that you have, too.**

**Thanks a million times over for all of your support on this one, guys. Stripped is my most-reviewed story, and you don't really know how much that means to me. Even if you read and never submitted a review, thanks for the time. I know that there are a million stories (or damn close to it) that you could be reading, and knowing that you're spending your precious time with John and Olivia is flattering, and humbling, to me. Thanks.**

**So, without further ado. . . I disclaim. Enjoy!

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Olivia had known that saying good-bye would bring tears. She hadn't expected that it would take her water-proof mascara to the breaking point. Of course, this place had been like her home for the last ten years. Nowhere else had she felt more welcomed or appreciated. Pandora's was going to be hard to leave behind, even when she was gone.

As she carefully packed some of her personal belongings from the posh dressing room, she sucked back another round of tears. It wasn't that she had a million fond memories here, but the people were good. They were her family. They had always been there for her – Melinda had been the closest thing to a mom that Olivia had ever known.

Casting a small smile to the couch, she caught the eye of the woman who had been her sister, maybe more, for the last decade. "Are you crying?" she asked curiously.

Arykah nodded and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. "Yes, I'm crying, dammit!" Huffing, she flopped back on the couch and rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm crying. You're my best friend, Olivia."

A slight twinge of guilt poked her gut as Olivia leaned her head over on top of Arykah's and took her hand. "I guess I could reconsider," she started.

But the bubbly young woman shrieked and smacked her friend in the back of the head. "Are you out of your fucking mind, woman?"

Laughing, Olivia jumped up and rubbed the back of her head before returning to her packing. "What was that for?"

Finally standing, Arykah started to fold a blood-red tapestry from the back of the couch. "For as long as I've known you, Olivia, my world has balanced on two things." She laid the blanket on top of the large box in front her friend and put a hand over Olivia's. "One – The higher the stilettos, the bigger the tips," she winked. "And two?" She sniffled back another round of tears. "Someday, you were gonna break outta this place and make something of yourself."

"And your world hinged on that?" Olivia asked curiously, not thoroughly convinced that Arykah had kicked her drug habit completely.

She sighed and squeezed Olivia's hand, giving her a sincere gaze. "Sweetie, you don't belong here. You never have. You're too big for this place." Stepping away, she rolled her eyes. "Hell, I already decided I was gonna kick your ass if you tried to come back here."

Before Olivia could answer, there was a knock on the door. Without waiting for an invitation, Melinda let herself into the room. Giving the room a once-over, she turned her full attention to Olivia. "Do you have any idea how badly this could end?" she asked simply.

Shrugging, Olivia rested her hip against the table beside her and shoved her hands in her pockets. Melinda was a business woman – staying at Pandora's was sure, easy money. Of course she couldn't fathom anyone giving that up. "I'm better than this, Melinda," she stated. "I deserve more than this place, more than their eyes," she pointed to the door.

Seemingly unimpressed, the older woman huffed. "Your life has never been easy, Olivia. If you were to stay here, it would be, and yet you seem determined to shake things up once again." Her perplexed expression evolved into a bright smile. "I'm proud of you, Kid," she winked, opening her arms.

For Olivia, that embrace made every decision, every choice, seem right. Melinda's approval made everything feel right – not just for Brandon, but for herself as well. "Thank you, Melinda," she whispered.

Pulling back, Melinda withdrew her hands from Olivia's shoulders and sat beside Arykah on the couch. "So what's next?" When Olivia turned a confused look to them, Melinda shrugged, as though it should have been an obvious question. "What are you going to do?"

"I have no idea," Olivia laughed.

Vince had offered her the mother of all deals. He would pay for her schooling, in any major she wished, while she worked as a diva for the company. Upon graduation, she would be offered a behind-the-scenes position, in any facet she requested. It was a blank check, of sorts. A contract for the next twenty years. She would have to spend about a year, maybe two, without Brandon – but in the end, it would be for the greater good. It was the perfect proposition.

And she had the next thirty days to decide if she was going to take the offer or not. In the meantime, Brandon would come home, and she was going to be a waitress at an upscale restaurant. She would spend the next month with her son, and together they would decide which path their future took. It felt right. It was right.

"And what about John?" Melinda asked pointedly.

Olivia gave Arykah a look, but the other woman just shook her head. "Oh no," she defended. "I said nothing."

Melinda just always knew. "Um," Olivia cleared her throat. "I don't really know about that, either," she chuckled. "I mean, we're not really official, I guess," she clarified.

Melinda looked over at Arykah and nodded. "Right," she laughed.

Tossing a G-string at her mentor, Olivia laughed. "We're not!" she insisted. "We're gonna see what happens. Depends, I guess, on what I decide about the job or whatever."

"So," Arykah sighed, standing and running her fingers through her blonde hair. "You have no idea what you're going to do with your life, where you're going to end up living, or if you're ever going to see the man of dreams again?" Olivia nodded. "And you're smiling, why?"

With her one box of belongings tucked safely under arm, Olivia addressed the two women for the last time. "Because life's gonna fuck you one way or the other," she winked. "But I finally realize you don't have to bend over and take it up the ass."

Melinda shook her head at the analogy as Arykah's laughter followed Olivia down the long, darkened hallways she had walked so many times. There was a slight spring in her step as she waved good-bye to her old family one last time and pushed the exit open with her shoulder.

A wide grin split her face as she looked upon the sight awaiting her. Brandon was sitting on the roof of John's car, comfortably nestled between Trish and Adam. John and Randy wrestled around on the concrete sidewalk beside the car, grunting and shouting expletives at each other.

Tonight, they would all have dinner in her house for the last time. Tomorrow, they would head back to work, and she would face an unknown future.

"Hey, Mom," Brandon waved. "You ready to get outta here?"

The men stopped wrestling and Randy pulled Trish off the top of the car, laughing as she squealed. Adam hopped down and helped Brandon, as John approached and took the box from her arms, kissing her nose.

Tomorrow was going to bring host of challenges and adventures she couldn't begin to imagine. Smiling at Brandon as John took her hand, Olivia nodded. "Yeah. I'm ready."


End file.
